Tales never end
by coolcat12345
Summary: They forget that no matter how many times hero is beheaded, burned, shot,scattered over four corners of world, they always come back, ready to repeat their tale. It doesn't make it easier for ones who love them one bit. Or, all Tsarevich Ivans are one same person, repeating his life through centuries. After last death, Gray Wolf and Elena must adapt.
1. Of wolves and fates

Well, hello and thank you for clicking on this story. I hope you will like it. It is based on the stories of Tsarevich Ivan, archetypal hero from Russian folklore. Plot of this story is what if all tales about Ivan are about same person? If tales constantly repeat, and some characters are forced to live same horrible lives over and over ?

* * *

'' O Great Gray Wolf, please allow me to bury my children and my wife!''

Wolf raised his ears on instinct, and looked up to sky. Crow was circling around him, wailing whole time. Goosebumps traveled through his body, raising his fur till it was like needles. Something bad happened- crow agreed to bring him Waters of Life and Water of Death, and they would heal and revive both crow's family and Wolf's Ivan. yet it was asking to take bodies for burial.  
'' Have you brought me Water of Life and Water of Death, as we agreed?''

Crow, which settled on branches of tall pine tree, raised it's head and cawed and moaned.  
'' Oh noble and Great Gray Wolf, I tried but I couldn't bring you waters! I traveled beyond seven mountains and seven seas, and traveled path which would wear out three pairs of iron shoes, break three iron sticks and make you eat three loaves of stone bread, till I arrived in Thrice-Nine kingdom, in Iron Forest. Trees barred my way, but I managed to enter it. I escaped beasts and нечисть, and hid from eyes of Riders! But when I came to Well of Life and Death, I couldn't pass, for the Dragon Choda-Yoda blocked my way. I pleaded, but he said that Great Crone forbid anybody to take Waters, and if somebody needs them, they need to bargain with her!''

Earlier, Wolf feared to go to woods to answer nature's call ( he would never do it here, so near Ivan-or what remained of him. It would be disrespectful if he was alive, and now that he was dead and Elena missing thanks to him!), in case some other animal tried to feast on remains. now he was grateful he did, for if not, he would have surely soiled himself in fear.

Choda-Yoda was no mere flying lizard, he wasn't even Dragon, but The Dragon, one from whom all others-wyvern, zmei, aždahas, alas and zduhac and rest came from. He was like Sun to candles of rest of dragons. But that wasn't what terrified him most. Oh no.

It was fact that She, Little Grandmother, Witch of Bony Legs and Iron Teeth, Grand-Aunt of All Witches, wished to keep Waters off-limits. Though Iron Forest- oldest, first and final reservoir of magic, which would continue to exist even when all others disappear- was officially place of anarchy, where none held throne, everybody knew who held final say over all beings and places in forest. It was Her, the terrifying cannibal of never ending hunger, who knew answers to all of world's questions and then some. While all other denizens of Forest kept to their territories ( Even Leshy, who embodied Forest) her hut on chicken legs moved wherever crone wished, from warrens and borrows of small things that only live to eat and be eaten, to grand castles of Kings and Queens of seas and mountains and skies and stars. And none dared to complain, for she would know, and come upon them and eat them like chickens. Going to her, with gifts and manners and nothing but pure respect was risky and you were likely to end in her cauldron as stew( as it happened, he bitterly recalled, to his youngest brother, third child of family, who went to crone in search of aid in freeing their sister from Underworld. Messenger came to them, and said that their brother's flesh was now stew and his bones part of fence. For three years afterwards their land was locked in ice and snow, and thousand children disappeared). But going against her wishes? That was suicide, fact as certain as rise of sun in east.

For moment, he thought of giving up. Of burying or burning body and crying till sea formed out of his tears. He could go and seek his killers, seek to free Elena ( for he could not kill himself, and follow Ivan into death), or tell Ivan's father what happened. But then memories flooded his mind. Ivan's gentle, kind smile when Wolf apologized for eating his cheeks red as rose with embarrassment when he and Elena complimented his looks. Annoyance and childish swearing-for which he apologized- when tsar Afron too sent him on Quest. Refusal to sell Elena, nervousness when she refused to go back, and rage when he learned of Wolf's unspoken shapeshifting talents. Uncontainable happiness and bear-like hug when he returned. His concern if two of them would be too much for Wolf, and sincere thanks, spoken in half-sleep. Shyness when Wolf or Elena made not-so-innocent comment. Insistence on freeing every animal and giving food or money to every so Wolf rose, and said to crow to bring him bag to put remains in. And when crow returned, he gave it bodies, and it went to bury them and mourn.

Wolf run, faster and swifter than wind, beyond seven mountains and seven seas, run while his paws bled, torn mess of flesh and skin and almost exposed bone, without stopping. Run for short or long time, none know, until he came to Thrice-Nine kingdom, to Iron Forest. Ivan's remains were rotten and gave horrible odor, which burned his nose, sensitive even for Wolf, but he didn't throw them, and scared off scavengers who tried to take them.

For three days and three nights he hunted hut, following horrible cackling, till he came to heart of Forest, lawn of light green grass, where trees were so high that Sun couldn't pierce through leaves and branches, leading to darkness so thick that even his golden eyes, so used to lack of light, could barely see finger in front of them.

And there stood fence made of bones. Legs and arms and pelvises and fingers. Some were white and shining like pearls,others were yellow and gnawed, while third were black from fire so much that they resembled broken charcoal. Some were fractured, others were covered with clotted blood. Inside fence, on long, thin chicken legs with long, bloodied claws, stood small hut that seemed to be made of bones melted together. Even roof was made of misshapen, twisted bones that rolled one around other. It was spinning to some mad tune he couldn't hear, dancing frenzied dance. At center of hut stood rotten-black spindle, with crimson thread that was leaking fresh blood. Wolf neared, slowly and carefully, and spoke:

'' L..li...little hu...u...t, li...ttle hu...ut, tu..ur..rn you..our back to forrrr...est and your dooo..ooor to me.''

Hut stopped, one leg bent and other in air. The, it slowly turned and Wolf's eyes widened as legs and spindle disappeared. It was fast, so fast that he couldn't track it. There was no twisting and bending that usually followed great magics like this, the complete unmaking of nature, nor there was flash of light that followed especially skilled wielders of magic. Legs and spindle just disappeared, without theatrics, and hut was on ground, as if it was always so.

With same speed, gate opened, and chilly wind beckoned Wolf to enter. When he walked into yard, and turned his head, he wasn't surprised to see that gate was he took first step, _something_ whispered, and he stopped in his tracks with one leg in air.

It was his name. His true, human name, unspoken for so long that on some days, even he had trouble remembering it, for it was buried in far away part of his mind, along with other details of his life before curse, and those memories were often foggy and blurry. As he stood there, other voices joined the first, and they grew in volume till his ears almost bled.

And then, skulls turned their gaze towards him. Younger, white and clean and shining like pearl, turned swiftly as wind. Others, older, fractured and yellow like peasant teeth, were much slower, turning bit by bit, followed by quiet creaking, and it seemed that it took them great effort. And when all of them set their empty eye sockets ( from which eyes were likely taken out by spoons and eaten like grapes, or used as decoration) upon him, ruby and emerald flames roared to life upon skulls, and from inside them came beams of soft, pale light, not unlike moon's.

 **''Go away living one! Go away living one! Go away living one!''**

They chanted with voice full of dust and cobwebs,sound of it like ice on skin. Their jaws rose and fell with horrible breaking sound.

Wolf didn't turn, but continued towards hut.

 **'' You do not know what you are playing with! You do not know what you are playing with! You do not know what you are playing with!''**

Chorus rose higher and higher, stronger than thunderstorm, and Wolf's ears almost bled. And then...

 **'' Brother, please stop. You will hurt yourself. Go away, please.''**

His brother's voice-broken, terrorized, warped-stopped him in place. Pleading whole time. It told him that he will suffer same fate as they. That before, when they were screaming his true name, nobody heard, but if he doesn't stop they will scream it so loud for whole world to hear. But Wolf, though scared, didn't stop. '' What power do'' he thought '' dead have over living?'' And small voice in his head asked '' If dead have no power over living, then how that you came here knowing risk, because of one dead prince?"' And Wolf answered, growling '' I came here by myself, and twice by my love, but Ivan didn't bind me to come here. If secret of my name is price I have to pay, then I accept!''

And so, voices of skulls died down, till one last whisper was left.

 **'' Do not repeat our mistake. Do not repeat our mistake. Do not repeat our mistake.''**

And when Wolf stepped on grass, in blink of eye yard grew, again so fast that he couldn't see it, till hut was at least thousand miles away. Wolf walked, walked through rocks sharp as knives and frozen ground, through lava and sea while his fur was burned on one side and frozen on other. He was drowning and dying of thirst at same time, but didn't stop. '' Is this how you treat guests?'' he asked.

And then, everything was back as it was before, but now he was on ground, broken and bloodied, tired, so tired. He closed his eyes, and so didn't see light that shone in windows, like glint of eye, nor did he see doors part like lips, and entrance grow till it was as big as whole house. But he did, in his head, hear voices- cold and uncaring- voices older than rock and stone, stars and sky, that pricked his skin like needles..

 _'' We smell Germanschwauffre blood. Camest thou hither from thine own wish, or because thou wast compelled?''_

Half-asleep, Wolf pondered question for some time. And when he was sure, he gave right answer. And entrance swallowed him whole.

* * *

 _'' No.''_

Wolf bit his tongue, to prevent insult coming out of his mouth.

In front of him , sitting on rocking chair made of false promises and bones of dead worlds like empress, stood Baba Yaga, imposing and terrifying like mountain. Her legs touched corners of hut ( no small feat, for inside, hut was grander than all palaces of world together) and her head touched roof. Her nose was as long as Perevitzky Bridge, and her arms were long as greatest trees, brown and rotting, her skin like bark and age spots like knots, with great iron claws at each finger. Her giant skirt was like forest- conifer green, orange and red of ripped autumn leaves, black red of rot and dried blood, clear blue of mountains streams and springs, while hear head, covered by snow white hair ( only thing clean on her), was like some primitive stone sculpture, hard and bare as top of mountains, hard and covered in wrinkles deep as canyons. She was thin, only skeleton covered by hardened skin, and around her was aura of power and age, great and teriblle, that invoked in him same feeling as when he saw ocean and blizzard for first time.

He thought for some time, how to ask without asking, for Baba Yaga aged year for every answer she gave, and so it wasn't wise to ask her something, at least not if you didn't wish to end up as soup.

'' I thought, Mistress, to ask you, for Ivan was kind and good soul, and his brothers did great injustice to him and Elena the Beautiful. And since you are mighty and great, I knew I could not steal Waters, so I wished to ask you, for it would be nothing for you, and everything for me.''

 _'' Oh, yes. Yes, it would be everything for you. You who sent crow to come and bring Waters in vials, better that then asking us, no? Didn't think we would know, that we would notice, that we would feel. And now you come, without price, without offering. And you speak about justice, but what of all others? Peasant families whose meaningless lives depend on their single, simple cow? Worthless nobles whose lines depend on single heir, whose death will tear their insignificant kingdoms to shreds? Why is you cause so much more important than theirs? Isn't it injustice, same reason why you came to us?''_

'' I...''

 _'' Didn't think of it! Of course not, you just thought of easy way to revive your pretty boy, without care for others? And why should you? Dogs aren't cats, they don't care for complex things, and humans never cared for rules and obligations. There was no way for you to care about something like that.''_

'' That is...''

 _'' And why you think we ordered Choda-Yoda to guard Wells? Too many heroes thinking it is easy to steal them. And if we let you go, what would happen? Your story would spread through world, revealed either by too much alcohol or stones that decided now it is time to talk. And what would people say? Yaga is unjust, Yaga is soft. Baba is careless, Baba is easily scared. Baba Yaga is senile, Baba Yaga doesn't notice. Even thousand children every day aren't worth of such annoyance. We won't give you, or anybody else Waters. Not now, not ever again.''_

Wolf gnashed his teeth. If he knew who was adventurist who drove old witch to breaking point, he would gladly eat them whole. He didn't expect this, he thought all he would need to do is to make few honeyed flattering comments, go on quest that would have been hard to human centuries ago, and leave hag to rot in peace. But now he had to think of another plan.

He couldn't take what he wanted by force, no. Even Merlin himself couldn't take Her down here, in heart of her power. He had to bargain, to be humble and appeal to her power and knowledge, if she truly had it. So he bowed with his forehead at floor and used his best apologizing voice, one he used on his nurse when she caught him in trouble.

'' O Great Mistress, I'm sorry for my arrogance and carelessness. My grief and rage took over my reason, thinking I have right, without price, to take such thing for myself. And I won't try to make you reconsider your decision, but I do have offer for you. I have heard that your power is great, and your reach is even longer. You can reverse effects of time, make torn body whole, reach into Otherworld and pull soul from it, bind it to body, so that dead can live once again. If you would do so with Ivan, there is no price I would be unwilling to pay, no artifact I wouldn't retrieve. I would go to end of world, and go against anybody you set me upon.''

Giant woman started to hum, sound as pleasant as blood-curling scream of banshee, and began rocking in her nightmarish chair, and Wolf could not stifle fear that chair would break and that giantess would fall on him, turning him to dust. And then she tapped chair with her curved claw.

From shadows, woman came. Her age was hard to determine- from one angle, she looked like fifty year old, her beauty slowly sapped by age and work, yet then light would change and she was barely girl. She wore traditional, if old-fashioned Ruttryniyan royal sarafan, all teal silk and turquoise velvet, with jewel encrusted kokoshnik and veil like moonlight. She was beautiful-she stood tall and proud, her skin without single blemish, her face perfectly proportional and symmetric. He supposed she could be called Beautiful, for she was almost as fair as Elena, but there was something lacking about her-her skin seemed to be made of porcelain, and her grey eyes were cold and dead like those of fish, and she moved slowly, so slowly that her clothes stayed still and flat,rigidly, like statue. She came to foot of chair, and Wolf could see that she was bearing iron cauldron, glowing red like fires of hearth, with steaming blue liquid inside whose fumes emitted strong and sweet smell of roses and honey. Yet she didn't appear bothered by heat, and he couldn't smell scorched flesh ( nor anything else), and when she let go of handle, and cauldron levitated to witch's hands, he could see that her fingers were shining, pristine and unharmed.

He closed eyes when ancient giantess started to open her mouth. He had no wish to see knives of iron and stone decorating cave that was her mouth, to see cold raindrops that were her saliva slip free. But he still could hear, how her lips parted, like rock cut in half, and how she roared as she swallowed contents of caludron, so mall that they were but a drop for her. waited until horrible grumbling sounds were gone, till sighs strong as gales stopped. He didn't care for manners much, not even as human, but even beasts of wild, who never knew civilization, would stand this.

 _'' See. That's manners, all right. We could, oh yes, we could, but we won't for naught.''_ This time, voice was higher, clearer and mocking, honeyed.

He turned to look to woman, but she stood still as statue.

'' Why?''

His heart almost jumped to his throat when he realized he asked her question. Witch's face curled, and pressure in room increased, but she didn't strike.

 _''We ain't doing those anymore. Retired, ya see. Otherworld, souls, and all that 's not ours. Resurrection's easy but's miracle. That's for deities, not us. This Creation is theirs, not ours, and they don't bother us, and we don't mess with often at least''_

He doubted deities would answer his call. Anger started to bubble up in him. Did he come this far, was he tested so much, just for old witch to behave as bishop of his father. '' Maybe we could help, but we refuse, just pray and help the Church.'' old man would say.

 _'' Not that it matters. He will be back, in year. Or ten, or century.''_

'' What do you mean by that?'' She didn't smite him previous time, maybe she won't do it now.

 _'' Did you ever wonder''_ she smiled, and it was like river carving canyon in mountain _'' why all tsareviches are called Ivan in tales of his land?''_

Question befuddled him, but he recalled good friend of his, master storyteller, who was also one of best folklorists on continent, and willing to give lessons for free to all who would listen ( and some who would rather not).

'' Legends and folklore were never my forte, Grand Mistress'' he hesitantly began '' but according to folklorists, it is because Ivan is common, ordinary name, and...''

 _'' Folklorists!''_ She scoffed, and wind pushed him to wall. _'' Scientists tempting with stories! Blasphemy if there was ever one! And they are some of best, not like physicist, chemists, biologists. Fools who think they know world better than old women in woods in small walking hut, who think themselves smart and wise, even if they can't calculate how many atoms are there in their body, which color is electron of gold, how does dying cell sound, and how would they then do something bit more complex, a? ''_

Wolf bit his his tongue again. If hag continued going from topic to rant about nonsenses and her hate of modern world, he would be here forever. He thought to open his mouth to spit this out, but he caught eye of woman, who waved her head from left to right and then back again. So he swallowed and waited.

 _'' Truth is, my little doggie, that your pretty boy constantly dies and is reborn, following same story. Oh details are different, but I am usually sucked in, and animals help him, of course. And there is always, always, some problem with his lover and when it is resolved, his two brothers chop him up and wastefully scatter remains instead of cooking them, and he rests before he is born again and all is repeated. World likes it's stories so it forces characters to repeat them. And when they resist, like my dear Vasilisa here,''_ and she gestured to woman _'' it recreates situation with other people. Your Ivan is repeating his tale since long ago. I met him fine number of times, and he is only reason why I haven't still made broth of you, but that's changing if you continue behaving like this, so be careful with your thoughts.''_

His brain was caught in terrible cacophony. It burned with knowledge, questioning possibility of such thing, questioning witch's sincerity, and instinct raged, telling him to get out.

But one thought shone brighter than all, calm rock in wrathful sea. '' I could see him again.''

'' Yes, you could, but when and where? One who cursed you didn't speak truth. You can die of old age, thought it will take more time than usual. Their spells cannot last forever. Maybe one capable of striking mortal blow and returning you to human form will be born once in hundred years, but you won't last half of thousand. Thought there is way to solve all of your problems...''

Offer was standing there, hanging unspoken in air. Serve me, be my slave, be my hound. fetch and hunt for me, and I will keep your death away. What is free life worth, without anchor, without goal or cause? Without comfortable home, warm supper on hearth, kind smile of considerate lover willing to care for beast? What could he do but accept? So he stood there, as hag unleashed her bidden power.

There was no sign, no incantation, no movement of arms, no wands or amulets. Were this normal witch, she would take strand of her power, knit it into ribbon of knots, form pattern while singing and working with something-candle, painting,dress,supper. And magic would use what it could use, make individual who fit spell's needs, come here for some reason ( lost in woods, cursed kingdom, dead lover), trip and fall on him and fracture his skull. Or maybe it would bring remains of victim who could have been one, and they would knock knife on him.

Were she mage, she would shape magic, give it form and use it as weapon. Were she sorcerer, she would prepare spell for hours, spell that would only do what it was specified for, and cover him with sigils. Were she wizard, it would be some combination.

But it was none. He realized that only now, when he didn't See her power. When he didn't see light or colors or shapes, when he didn't smell herbs `or food, didn't hear growling or music, didn't taste rich, sweet or disgusting flavors, didn't feel elements across his skin. No, her power was like air. Lacking form, unnoticeable, but omnipresent, and when it wished, it could destroy cities, change weather, move sea or deed fire. rip trees from ground and crush icebergs, wear out mountains and reshape deserts. It was noticed by it's effects, not looks.

He thought her giant, though unusually old and powerful, of indeterminate race. Mayhaps one of remaining elders, who predated humanity, from time when nechyst still held power of shaping and commanding magic, when it itself was young. Prototype, really. But now he understood that she was no more witch or giant than God was sorcerer or dragon.

But most of all, he was overtaken by her sheer age. He saw her posture and behavior, bitter and bored with world,saw dried, emaciated husk her body has become, almost corpse. When he looked at her, space around her seemed filthy, dusty, worn out and pale, covered with patina and smelling of corpses, infertile soil and old books, and now he understood why his mind associated her with sea and mountain, it was it's subconscious attempt to describe ancient power it felt and not break. For that was what she was, not old but Ancient. Her age pressed upon him, with weight of sea and sky, drowning him with sheer number of years she lived. He understood then that she was before, she is now and she will be after.

And in second it was over. His body didn't contort, twist and bend into blob while bones and muscles remade themselves, nor did he change in explosion of light and flame. Simply, one moment he was wolf, and another he was man. _Handsome_ man, two heads taller than Ivan or Elena ( Ivan would fit well at his chest, was what passed through his head), well-muscled and lean, with sharp, high cheekbones and strong jaw, pointy chin and grey hair. He was well out of teenage years, but still not true adult, dressed in royal Germanschwauffre hunting clothes, thought little out of date and not overly breath was unsteady, and he did only what was reasonable for mortal to do after experience like this.

He passed out, with soft thump when his head touched floor. Baba Yaga just continued rocking in her chair, while something that might have been surprise passed Vasilisa's eyes, giving them some semblance of life.

'' Well, that was impressive. We haven't got one like this for ages. That promises interesting times.''

* * *

He awoke in soft, big bed, covered by heavy woolen was coming through window with glass as clean as spring breeze, filling room with beautiful shine and making falling of dust motes seem like dance of some small, sparkling creatures. Room was completely made of polished, lacquered wood that was shining under light.

'' Where did she send me?'' he asked aloud.

'' You are still in hut, just in different room.'' Cold voice answered. He turned to see that woman-Vasilisa was it- had entered room, with tray with food in one hand and bundle of clothes in other. When she came to bed, floor rippled like water, and matter rose, shaping into small table for tray and chair for her.

'' I'm sorry we haven't been introduced formally. I'm Vasilisa, and for some time I will be your guide and your link with babushka. Now, You should eat. And change clothes.'' And she threw bundle on bed.

''...Change clothes?'' He asked, thankfully without blushing.

'' Hmmm. Didn't take you for self-conscious. but if it will be easier for you, I won't look.''

'' No, I mean, why should I change clothes?'' While technically he did wear same clothes for decades, thanks to spell they bore no damage he received in his animal form, and so they were clean and new.

'' I suggest you take look at yourself.'' He did, and immediately paled.

His tight, brown leather breeches were covered with big dark, wet spot. Only now, he noticed that he was feeling uncomfortably pricking itching at that area, which he knew meant that there was danger of rash and infection. Disgusting smell was noticeable, and he was thankful that he no longer had precise senses of wolf. When he looked around himself, he saw that mattress was clean. Which meant that he must have soiled himself in front of witch. Remains of his pride were screaming, and he looked down, unwilling to meet eyes of Vasilisa.

'' If it will mean something to you, this is considered almost impressive by babushka's standards. Most people melt after getting idea of her true age.'' She spoke, with closed eyes and raised eyebrow.

Silently, he got out of bed, and undressed himself slowly, casting careful glances onto her, but she truly didn't take a look. Still he was ashamed, he never thought he would ever let somebody watch him undress, unless those were servants or Ivan and Elena( thought those would be rather different situations). And so, he slowly cast away last remnants of his old life, folding them carefully on bed, and dressed in peasant clothes provided for him, which were fresh but old, and he was unable to identify them as belonging to either nation. Thought simple, flaxen fabric was beautiful in some way, shining and strong, soft as silk and easy as cobwebs, as well as unusually cool.

'' I hope you like it. It is one of mine creations.'' She said with tone of voice that implied that she doubted he had ever seen something like that. This information surprised him, for she looked like woman of noble birth, and while he was sure she knew how to embroider, he would never have guessed that she was capable of making full clothes, and peasant one on top of that. So, though he guessed she didn't need it, he assured her of excellence of her craftsmanship, and she almost smiled.

'' I'm sorry, but are you related to Vasilisa of kingdom of Never? Your name and clothes fit, and I must say that I have heard she is very beautiful and skilled in magical arts.''

Something resembling insulted look passed her dead eyes ( or was it annoyance) but she answered calmly:

'' No. I'm in no way related to her, save for superficial, accidental resemblances. We are similar just like cheap glass is similar to greatest diamond.'' He could guess who she thought of diamond . He wondered if this was what... that being though when she spoke of world attempting to repeat great feats, and when she said Vasilisa resisted. Was it possible that queen of never was world's attempt to repeat this woman's life?

''What am I going to do? How long? And how will I last until Ivan is reborn?''

'' Aren't you full of questions.'' She said, and he knew she wasn't asking. '' You did well that you kept your curious nature in front of babushka. Still, you have wasted two questions. She will only allow you one more, and after that none. So don't ask her without permission or great need, and don't ask her about _anything_ in this house.'' When she said that, sunlight dimmed, and her dress gave off fiery shine, while cup she just took shone with dull orange glow, and tea let out white smoke, contrasting nicely against her icy appearance.

'' As for your questions, for now you will just be fetch boy. You will do so for however long babushka wishes. And you will live, for she will drive death away from you.'' When his eyes widened and he started to open mouth, she sighed and answered. '' And yes she can. You cannot control what is older than you, and babushka is much, _much_ older than death. It could gobble up all that can die, feast on their power, siphon off babushka for twice long she has lived, trap her in circumstances that favor it, and throw all it has on her, yet she wouldn't need to move finger to fight it off. Death knows this, so it won't try anything. Now go with me, you need to remember basic layout of space you are permitted to wander.''

He got up, and looked around empty room, and then he saw that his bag was nowhere in room. His face twisted with rage, but before he could speak she looked at him with those cold eyes that seemed to be more of ornament than organ and answered.

'' Don't worry, babushka and me took good care of corpse. It was treated with respect and burned, and I can assure I will take good care of his skull.''

'' His skull?!''

'' Yes. I keep skulls of my greatest enemies and friends, and Ivan was great friend to me in all his previous lives. I have skulls of all his bodies. And it wouldn't be smart to keep asking me too much questions either. if you learn too much too soon, or you will get too old too soon, and we don't wish that, do we?'' And then, her face turned old, so old,wringled and saggy skin covered y steely hair, before it was back to normal.

''Also, thank you. I won bet with my prediction that Ivan will find some nice, cursed boy for himself in this life.''

* * *

They are watching flames of oven, oven on which they sleep, golden flames in which they finished creation of worlds like humans who makes clay pottery, golden flames that consumed so many souls, golden flames in which they were thrown so many times, and think about mortal prince.

His will is strong, supported by his love, and that allowed him to survive glimpse of their age they have shown him. Some will say that it was test, same as torment he suffered on outside of hut, and maybe it was, but mostly, middle sister was bored and sought way to have fun. Youngest agreed, because they could feast on flesh when he dies, and eldest sat in silence and contemplated all this.

It was their right to make Waters forbidden. Oh, there was injustice there, but they were irritated, irritated at those heroes in shining armor who claim to be noble when they are really selfish, just as those who call themselves monsters when they are nothing but soft. So they called Choda-Yoda and ordered him to guard waters, even if nobody has taken them in was so small for them, but they understood how much it is for humans, stupid, uncultured, thieving humans. Some might have called them whimsical, but they didn't care, for it was right, and they went in their mortar and took those liars and crushed them into spice.

They were nothing but headache, oh yes. Others didn't realize this, or they forced themselves to believe that humans are worth something, but they let little morsels to worship them, to build armies and temples and nations in their name, and they fought for their souls. They knew better, but they too were too much kind.

Some would laugh at this, but this was true. When those pitiful worms began having thoughts of mercy and kindness, they should have crashed them, but they did not. When they cried out against injustices, asked for love and hope and not sacrificing babies on primitive altar every month ( as if it was something dreadful!) they should have let their Black Rider, one on which they stood, crack and consume them, suffocate them with sand and drown with mud, crush with rock and melt with lava. Other Black Rider should have covered first, imprisoned survivors in dark and shadows, so that no crops would grow and allow no light to warm them. But they wouldn't let them die, oh no. They would then order White Rider to replace night and last on forever, so that they would never sleep, never rest, light always blinding them. And second White Rider would send it's winds and torrents and storms and destroy their homes. And then Red Rider they loved so much would send it's light, it's warmth they desired so much, and burn their crops and melt their skin.

But they didn't do so. They went away in their beautiful hut on chicken legs ( or were it chickens who had legs like their hut) and let all other deities come with bling and miracles and codes and make little idiots civilization.

And now, some idiots were starting to think they are smart. Scientists, they called themselves, and examined world and turned people from magic. but they were fools, fools who couldn't count atoms of their own body, hear sound of their cells dying, see what colors were their electrons. And how could they know something, if they are unable to perform such basic things? But worst of all, they called them stupid.

Stupid old woman, they said. remnant of forgotten time. Corpse who refused to die, not realizing that she is no longer needed. Her powers are outdated, they said, fear People have of her is unfounded now, for they are stronger than before. All she has to offer is scaring children. So they tried to forget, because remembering took courage and bravery. They didn't realize, that every time they struck their name out of history, their teeth grew sharper. That their parents tried same, and that their children will know them and try again, but best they could do was forget their name and see them in another shape. But they will know her.

And people will follow these scientists, these wise men and sages, and when their precious kingdoms fell, when their overdecorated fortresses of civilization they built against wild lie in ruin, and their children crawl through ash and dirt, they would remember that Baba Yaga warned them, and that they won't show mercy next time. Gods could exist without men, but men could not exist without gods.

At least People still had some sense left. That was why they were their legend. When Baba Yaga called for kingdom to be destroyed, all of People, healthy and sick, old and young, good and evil, took up weapons, fought against those she pointed them on, marched to their death. When Baba Yaga called for sacrifice, tsar had no peace from people who were offering themselves, cities chosen as victims took their lives, and survivors wept bitter tears because they haven't been chosen. When Baba Yaga called for meal, people who would defy deities for sake of their children took their offspring in arms, raced against their neighbors to woods and worst brats willingly put themselves in their maws.

Some said that this was vengeance. That once Baba Yaga was young, has always been young, and then humans came with their questions and for each answer, year of her youth and beauty were stolen, and not even all tea of blue roses can fix that, so she eats children. Nonsense. They cared not for her looks, even if their back ached terribly. They ate children because humans were spoiled and needed bit of pain and tragedy in their lives. Only few, like Ivan or Vasilisa or Vasilisa's archetype, little girl of ashes, were worth something.

Though Ivan should settle and stay single forever. His lovers always brought problems, and now that he had two!

They changed their form, became tall as human but bent with age, and went to in cage, children of people lined themselves up with smiles of pride on their faces.

''Not now, dearies.'' They said and watched as children of People started crying.

They took plump Germanschwauffre child, too scared to move, opened their great maws and put it between their iron and stone knives that rested in their jaws, put it in till teeth were over waist.

They closed mouth.

* * *

Well, first chapter is finished! Thank you for reading and please review.


	2. Of princesses and roles

Here is second chapter. This one is about Elena. I hope you will like it.

* * *

Tsaritsa Elena sat on her chair and combed her long, silky hair. Outside, people lit bonfires on walls of palace, which reached almost up to highest towers. Guards danced and sang and played instruments, in hopes that booming sounds would drive away illness and death. Priests scoffed and scowled under breath, but they didn't voice their complaints and instead remained in their rooms, praying for tsar under crucifix.

Other woman would have gone out and stood by Tsar's deathbed. Other woman would have wept. Other woman would have at least called captain of guard and told him to cease senseless noise, but tsaritsa Elena wasn't like other women. She remained in her room, and combed her beautiful, grey streaked hair in front of her mirror.

She held no fear for her reputation. People would scowl and give her dirty glares when she turned her back, and shiver when she turned her head at them. Some would dare, in dark and under earth, dare to whisper accusations of cold heart and hatred for tsar, whisper that she will surely now find third husband, and some would even dare to speak of witchcraft and murder.

If it was some other woman, people would have rebelled. Would have cast her down from throne. Would have put her head on spike.

But she wasn't some other woman. She was tsaritsa Elena, and she was scarier than pack of hungry wolves that feasted on human flesh set on lone traveler half frozen in winter night. She would do as she pleased and her people wouldn't dare to go against her.

There was knock on old oak door. Elena didn't turn her head, didn't order to be left unbothered, so maid took it as permission to enter room, shaking slightly.

''M.. My L-llady... They sent me to to tell you...''

Elena turned and looked onto maid. it was young, scraggly lass of sixteen summers, with rough skin and unkempt mousy hair. She was bent, and shivering whether because of cold or fear.

'' Speak.''

Maid turned her head downwards. Even looking onto tsaritsa terrified her. Not only because of her reputation, but also because of her face. She was still as beautiful as so many decades ago. Oh, tsaritsa aged, of course, no matter what ugly tongues lied, but she didn't decay. Her hair was streaked with grey, but it was still silky and soft. Her skin was wrinkled, but she still had all teeth, bright and white like pearl necklace around her neck. Her sight was worse, but her eyes shone and twinkled like two stars on winter night. She stood straight, refusing to bend to time, and her voice was still one of most beautiful maid ever heard ( even bawdy ballads are songs, after all).

'' She will grow to be hundred years old, and she still won't bow to time, and she will still be more beautiful than all girls in tsardom. And when she dies, when her body rots, only then will somebody be fairer than her, and even then only bit. And I will be hideous before I turn twenty and five.'' Young girl thought without touch of bitterness.

''They said that your husband... that he is dying. They can't save him. And he is asking for you.'' It was hard to say, as if something has taken root in her throat, and refused to come out. She too heard stories of tsars killing messengers bringing bad news, and while it could be stupid tale, you never knew. But tsaritsa did nothing like that. She just turned back to mirror and continued combing her hair.

'' I'm sorry.'' she mumbled and stepped towards door.

'' Stop.'' And she did. Queen's voice was beautiful but cold, chiming of silver bells covered by frost and hoar. It stopped her better than iron chains could.

'' Anya. You parents are lying in bed because of fever. But it's not they for whom bonfires are lit.''

Her words were like icicles in Anya's heart. It wasn't cruel or cold, in truth it was soft. If it was anybody other, words would have been biting, mocking, for such was way of nobles. But it was truth-after all, bonfires were only for _important_ people.

'' Go. I will make sure you have no more jobs this night. And bring those to doctor Illiya.'' In her arms were two things.

Gold apple and letter with tsarist seal. Anya squeaked and let her eyes tear, and mumbled thanks thousand times before she run off. She didn't question this, at least not now. Shock would come later, she had family to bring cure.

When door closed, woman in mirror smiled at tsaritsa, so bright and seemingly innocent that it hurt eyes.

'' So nice. So kind. Maybe she will tell people this and they won't think that you are cruel. And they will love you and won't accuse you of treason. You won't have to rot in cell, praying that your innocence will be proven, or manipulate court politics till situation calms down. No revolution will start, and you won't burn as witch.''

Woman in mirror smiled, and rays of summer sun came upon Elena, melting ice around her heart, freeing that little regret and sadness she had. It was crumpled, rotten, like autumn leaf, but it was there. Along with nostalgia, and bitterness, and wish to be loved. For moment, her lips were left open, her eyes downcast and filled with musing, with question, whether it was possible for people to love her.

And then ice returned, and hid all of that. And she snarled and glared at twisted image ( what-I-will-never-be, tsaritsa called it. Woman called tsaritsa what-you-could-have-been-if-you-were-wise. Difference was more and less than it sounded) and spat.

'' Go away. I'm tired if this game.''

Woman smiled again, and her grin was long, too long for human. Her face contorted, as it dissolved in story beginnings and broken hopes, till it was gone, to some other mirror, to torment some other aging queen. Preferably with beautiful stepdaughter.

* * *

''Babies should be ugly, screaming messes. Not beautiful smiling cherubs!''

That was first thing they parents whispered to each other when they looked onto her, how she soundly slept with small smile on her lips. People outside celebrated, and servants whispered that newborn princess was blessed by fairies, which made perfect sense, for everybody knew fairy doesn't give gift without horrible price.

They both knew what it was. She was Beautiful. Magic and beauty itself were woven through her, her skin and blood, her flesh and bones. She could age to thousand years, or scarred by fire, or cut up by knife, or cover herself with mud and manure but she still would be beautiful, magnificent, shining.

It was more than pretty face, of course. She would be able to charm people, to make them comply to her whims. It wasn't control, not really. She wouldn't take away their will, make desire sprout where was none, but twist it till it was malleable as clay, inflate and enlarge whatever feelings they ahd, and complied to her wishes. And even now, she never needed to cry for food, for servants would feel her hunger, and bring her food. She never said what she wished for present, for people would always bring her what she wanted. Her dresses always looked exactly as she imagined them, and she always ate what she wanted. her horse and kitten adored her, never scratching or kicking or harming her in any way, never being too loud, never emiting manure and urine in her presence. It was thanks to this that she always got what she wanted.

And it was thank to this that her mother jumped of roof of highest palace tower after screaming at seven year old Elena. She didn't remember why- it made her unhappy, so her Beauty forced court sorcerer to extract her memories-she thinks she fell into pond when she was climbing tree and that her mother was angry at her and worried. So she cried when mother screamed, and mother stood as if she was frozen, and then she run to highest tower and threw herself while screaming sorry. Her father followed her mother soon, thanks to knife over wrists.

And so she shut herself. She understood what it meant, what she had to do. She shut herself away, in her chambers, remained apart of rest of world, her face hidden by veil, without friends, without family, alone with books and kitten that adored her because it had no other choice ( what a great magic, to bind will of cat, one of her favorite books said).

And her people thought her vain, arrogant. They didn't know what it felt like, to trade glades and lakes for empty halls and cold marble. And sometimes, when she heard bitter remark, mocking rumor, her blood would burn and hatred would rush in her heart, and she almost wished to make them feel sorry and then cut away their head. But she didn't, for it wasn't right.

Now, what other kingdoms said about her was much more annoying than what her people did. They called her Beautiful, not realizing price of spoke of her pretty face, or her shining eyes and silky hair, and not one knew that she had been running kingdom so long, that she knew complex algebra and could name every country. No, they just talked how beautiful she was, and tried to earn her hand. Sometimes she wished that she wasn't Beautiful, but Wise. But then she remembered that her knowledge wouldn't be really hers, but given, and while power over time sounded interesting, to be fated with horrible curse and unable to seek help wasn't an ounce better than what being Beautiful brought her. But still sometimes, in dark of night, after tiring day, she wondered: was wisdom more beautiful, or beauty wiser?

And then one day she was gone. Wolf came, in flurry of gray and wind, and carried her away to forests. She raged and fought, almost giving him concussion ( she wasn't really strong, but anger and adrenaline and big rock could certainly do trick) when boy-well, man, but he seemed so confused and innocent that he could have as well been young boy. And there was lot of shouting ( she was surprised that she was surprised when Wolf spoke. Of course it would speak). And she tried to get away, but then they caught her ( meaning Wolf bared her way) and manboy started explaining and apologizing. Apparently he understood that Wolf would ask her to come with them. Wolfs eyes flashed with surprise, as apparently idea didn't cross her mind. So then they started explaining her everything, which made her all more confused, as she couldn't understand why Firebird would be stealing some apples and why would Wolf eat horse, help man ( Ivan, she learnt, nice name) to repent for that, but still asked for favor because he was helping Ivan to apologize for eating horse... It all seemed like bad romances she read in her library.

'' And so we will present you to Afron, and he will give us horse with Golden mane to trade for Firebird to bring to my father, and Wolf will take you home and apologize your guards for mess...

'' ...Ivan? Excuse me, but how do you mean for me to return to my kingdom when you sell me off to Tsar Afron?'' Elena asked, putting on her face her sweetest smile that didn't reach her cold, glaring eyes. Ivan shuddered at that expression ( it was one that his father made when he was ready to punish him, and though Elena was far prettier than tsar Vyslav, those eyes bore through him like daggers) and then looked at her confused.

'' What do you mean? We can't sell you. And if you would come with us, we would just bring tsar to you, you two would talk and then Wolf would return you home.''

Dear God and all saints, he was dense. But not bastard at least.

'' Reason why Afron sent after me is so that he could force me to marry him.''

'' What?! No, that's...disgusting. We can't let him do that! ''

So, it turned out that when tsar said '' Bring me Elena the Beautiful'' Ivan understood that he meant that he wished to talk to her ( Ivan found it really strange that tsar didn't just come to her kingdom, he said, and she rolled her eyes but couldn't stifle the smile) and said it so to Wolf, who had something of aversion to laws so he decided to kidnap her ( '' And your guards would have surely received me well.'' he said).

'' Well then, we must go.'' Ivan said, and got up, dusting off his pants.

'' Come Grey. We can't finish this quest. It's inhuman.'' Wolf narrowed his eyes and Ivan smiled sheepish smile.

'' Sorry. Let's go.'' Wolf opened his mouth, like he was going to argue, but then stopped and sighed and went after Ivan, into dark wood.

Not half minute after, his head reappeared behind bushes, still smiling that same smile.

'' Sorry. Will you allow us to get you back to your palace?''

She didn't go to palace. She should have returned, and her conscience gnawed at her for this, but it had been so long that she wasn't outside palace, so long since she swam and climbed trees and run over hills. Since she played with animals and picked forest strawberries, small and red like rubies of her many necklaces ( but much more beautiful-after all, how can cold stone compare to soft flesh of wild wood's fruits), drank clear, cool waters of stream, watched stars from high trees that were old back when her kingdom was still village. And she was sure ( almost completely) that if she was away for hour tsardom wouldn't collapse. probably.

But when she run to middle of wood, where treetops were so wide and leaves numerous, where branches grew long, twisting and binding one another, and where sunlight barely broke through, when she finally tasted wild and freedom, like rich, hot sauce on her tongue, her blood rushed and for first time in so many years, she was filled with joy. So she run, and hour became day which became week which became month. And oh, she returned to palace sometimes, or she made people come to wood, so she would hear plights of poor. But she went to wood, and bit by bit, she smiled more, and she was messy, covered with dirt and dust and elaves, her clothes torn . But she avoided pools, for instead of being matted, her hair formed almost-but-not-really- plaits, leaves and branches formed crown on her head, and dust and grime settled on her in way that made her oddly beautiful, in way that old treasures buried and forgotten under earth are. In way that beasts are. Wild but enchanting.

Sometimes she stumbled upon Ivan's camp and greeted him and Wolf. Once in three days. Then twice. Then every day till she set up her camp near their. At first they exchanged simple greetings which grew in small talks of jokes and puns, and before she noticed they were exchanging their most embrassing memories.

Sometimes, there was whisper in back of her head, as cold filled her lungs and her fingers buzzed with electricitu, as they always did before strangers threw themselves at her feet and proclaimed their loyalty to her. It sought to bind them, make strong, wise Wolf pet and beast of burden, make kind, clueless Ivan errand boy and hunter. It gnawed at her, beast that stole all it came upon, played with lives before it destroyed and discarded them. But she kept power bidden for years, and she wouldn't let it get out ( even if something in her head said that now she allowed herself some freedom, it would all come tumbling down because of her selfishness). So she shackled it with chains of will, forged by hatred in forge that was her fiery anger, and it couldn't get out. Her charm lessened, but it was all right. Friendships should be built upon trust and mutual care, not on endless givings provided by supernatural allure. Giving and taking by both, and most of all, sharing.

They became team. Everybody offered their skills and together they got job done. Elena tracked, Wolf catched, Ivan cooked and they all did hardest part-eating. Together they bought cloth to mend their garments, Wolf choosing fabrics, Ivan measuring how much they needed, Elena sewing. When they went stargazing, Ivan told stories of stars, some old as civilization, some young, invented that moment. Elena named them and listed off all she knew- how far away they were, how old, how warm. Wolf taught them how to use those stars to navigate, and spoke of lonely, cold nights when they were only things aiding him on path.

Slowly, she started to speak to them about heavier things. About her Beauty, her power, her curse. How she locked herself so that people wouldn' t make themselves her slaves. How at first, she tried explaining it to them, but they all just smiled too-wide smile that revealed too many teeth and nodded like dolls, looking at her with empty eyes. How she thought she had it under control, yet there was still dark voice in her head promising her that it will all far apart because she was selfish. How she had no right on freedom and beauty of woods. And they listened, hearing what she said, and told her it was all right that she had such concerns and that she wasn't weak for them, and that they were sure there was no magic that could stand against her will. And when she had days so bad that she couldn't get out of bed, they didn't reprimand her, just cared for her.

And Ivan spoke too, of his home, his family. Of his father Vyslav, never satisfied, never happy, always giving insults disguised as criticism. Of Vasili, always mocking, always tormenting, always beating him when angry. Of Dimitri, who would do something kind than something cruel, Dimitri who always told him he was overreacting, always implying it was all Ivan's fault. And Ivan believed him, and carried guilt and fear, never recognisizing what they were doing, always rationalizing it away. And they assured him he was worth, and that he didn't need to be perfect, that he didn't need to live his life for them.

And Wolf- Grey, Grey he became thought she couldn't remember when- spoke too, of sister stolen away by turned-away-suitor, who felt he had right on her. Of his youngest brother, only one who dared to try to rescue her, who died trying. Unceremonous, unhonorable death that would never be sung of. Of his father who wasted away in three year winter. Of his second brother, killed by scared folk, sure that Ragnarok was upon them. Of himself, who run away from it all one day and could never return. And they assured him it wasn't his fault, and that he couldn't save them, and that one day they will save his sister together ( " Even if it means I must march my armies to gates of Hell" Elena said, and Ivan whispered he was more afraid of her than Hell, which earned him light smack and proud smilep).

And one night, when they were lying onto hill, Ivan turned to her and said:

"You know, Elena, you are exactly my type of woman."

She rolled her eyes.

"What, you like woman with few meters of hair, who wear three wardrobes in summer and can't be ugly even when they roll in mud?"

"I like women who could run whole world without sweating once ."

Her eyes widened. It was that which broke final straw. Which made her appear in morning clad in enough silk to clothe three cities and so much jewels that she could have as well been wearing armor. She asked gaping Ivan and Grey only one question.

"So, are we going to start planning my wedding?"

She went to her main advisor, told him she was going away for some time, and that he better take god care of kingdom till she returns. They traveled on Grey to forest in Afron's kingdom. And they planned. How to present Elena, how she would escape, how to make escape unrelated to Ivan. Ruefully, they had to refuse Ivan's idea that Elena chops Afron to bits with meat chopper ( Grey paled and slowly stepped away from Ivan when he spoke that, and Elena seriously considered it for moment), or Grey's suggestion that she dresses up as servant at night and sneaks out, or Elena's plan of making tunnels under palace. In end, they were back at beginning- no idea what to do.

And then, Grey told them, ashamed and quiet, that once he had power to change his shape, but he hasn't used it for years, and was unsure he could change into Elena. Ivan didn't understand why, but Elena, though not spellcaster, had read many books ( her tsardom was steeped into magic, with great number of practicioners, for it was place where Veil between here and Middleworld blurred, so there were many works on academic magic there, while other lands had only superstition to go off), knew that for transformation you needed link, similarity from which you could go on to change your body. So she ripped off her fine coat, and took her many skirts, and turned them into ribbons she tied around Grey's legs and back. She placed her kokolshnik upon his head and jeweled necklaces upon his neck. And she took hunting knife, and cut off one of her many plaits, put it under kokolshnik, and cut her sensitive, soft,unmarred skin, letting her blood drip onto Grey like fine wine. Grey wore it for two months, as they passed sharp, cold tips of mountains, and deep, stormy seas. And when they came to Afron's kingdom, he sat down, and in an hour, he changed to Elena. And Ivan presented ''her'' to Afron, who gave him Horse with Golden Mane, who took them far away in second. And when they were on safe distance, Ivan spoke Grey's Name. And Grey appeared there immediately, for even person with no magic could do many things to you if they knew your Name. And Ivan knew both Name given to Grey And Wolf was same size as Horse, so they put saddle on him and bit of Golden mane, and put horse's smell on him, tricking Dolmat same way. And none considered that foolish Ivan tricked them, and lamented that they let fool go on quest for what they sought most. Afron went to Elena's kingdom, and died on way, and his people choose their leader, who was most fair.

And when they were in forests of Ivan's tsardom, Grey left them. He said he repaid his debt, but Elena knew what was matter. Only way to free somebody from powerful transformation was to kill them in their cursed form. There was no guarantee that they would return as same person. And she knew that he wished to subject neither of them to that, so he would go away and get some butcher do job ( to this day, she wonders if he died trying to kill some girl with grandmother and red cloak, or some animals that built house). Some would say there is other way, but their people were never big on true love's kiss, so they had never heard of that ( and even if it wasn't of West, they are too old to believe in true love's kiss).

And when night came, they settled onto grass and slept, embracing and protecting each other. They had shifts, first Elena, then Ivan. But near morning Ivan fell asleep, knowing that they will wake in fifteen minutes. They should have awoken, went to Vyslav's palace, give him Firebird, and then ride away to Elena's tsardom, where she would finally come out to her people as strict but fair tsarevna. Ivan would be her prince-consort, and they would hunt, spar,cook and sew together. And when they fought or just neededtime only for themselves, she would go to library to write books of her own while Ivan would wander forest and courtyard, feeding and freeding small animals. And they would find Grey and break his curse without harming him. But

And then his brothers came, lost, torn and confused. When they went away from crossroad months ago, they have been stumbling and traveling through kingdom whole time, trying to find Firebird. And when they saw it, in golden cage on shining horse, next to their brother, who slept in embrace of most beautiful woman they have ever seen, envy slithered in their hearts like serpent, firing flames of rage. Coddled their entire lives, spoiled and praised since their first word, first walk, they thought themselves greatest of men, felt that world owed them luck and riches. To see that simple, soft Ivan succeeded where they could not made hatred grow in them. Dimitri suggested that they wake Ivan, talk to him, and convince him to give up horse and Firebird ( and surely girl will leave him, and go to one of them, if she isn't blind or stupid). Like they always did-awaken little guilt, put little disappointment in voice, and he will bend head in shame and accept.

But Vasili wasn't listening ( or he was, and didn't care, which was much worse). He took out his saber, and swiftly cut off Ivan's head. Elena awoke, and screamed. She grabbed Ivan's sword, and struck at Vasili. They blocked each other's attacks for few moments, but Vasili was better learnt in art of sword fighting, and Dimitri was there too. So Elena fell, and when they reached for her, she cast dust and stones into their eyes, kicked Vasili in stomach, and run off into woods. But branches caught her by hair, like hands reaching for her. Thorns snatched her dress as if they were teeth snapping down onto her. Rough stones and roots made her stumble, and panicked, she just run, till they caught hit her, and bound her arms witch scratching rope, and made her kneel.

'' Now, there is no need to run. We won't do anything to you.''

Her face contorted with sneer, revealing her teeth. She struggled, trying to free herself.

'' Like you did nothing to Ivan?''

'' Now, that is no way to speak to honorable knights, is it? You should be more respectful.'' Her eyes widened, and she almost laughed, before she spat on ground.

''You might have been called honorable knights if you fought and won a battle in an open field. But as it is, you killed someone who was sleeping and defenseless. What kind of respect could you possibly deserve?"

In second, Vasili growled like beast, and caught her by hair. He bent her head, exposing neck, and put his cold saber onto it, close enough that he needed just one wave to decapitate her, but still not touching skin.

"Listen now. You will come with us, and tell our father that we found Firebird. That we saved you from great danger, and marry me. Swear that you will do so, or I will kill you.''

In days that would come, she would often hate herself for that, call herself coward and be filled with self-loathing. Think that she should have refused, died honorable death, even if rational side of her mind insisted she had nothing to blame herself for. But in that moment, thought of honorable death didn't float across her mind for second. She saw sharp, well maintained blade, polished so much that like in mirror, she saw her wide, tearful eyes, her hanging mouth and stretched skin. Shaking whole time, as she attempted to keep screams inside her head, she said oath.

'' By stars and moon, by white day and black night, by dark earth and light sky, by rivers and stones, wind and forests, I swear. By God, our Father in Heaven as my witness, I promise. By Iron Hag I bind myself, not to reveal your secrets, to keep them hidden, and make sure they stay buried.''

Despite what some people thought, words _did_ have power. More power than sticks or stones, than sword or poison. Promise made must be fulfilled, or great misfortune was upon you. there were thousands upon thousands records of great people brought to ruin by broken promise, unfulfilled deal. Grander you were, stronger promise. Promise of king brought more power, greater punishment than promise of peasant. Promise of magical brought more than that of ordinary person. Grander your promise grander punishment-oath sworn on deity was far stronger than oath sworn on mother's life. And when she, Beautiful tsaritsa of great tsardom, swore on world and God and Her, cold power within her chest arose, turning blood into chilly streams, bones into ice, and wrapped around her whole body. And when it covered everything, making it hard for her to breathe, it sunk into her flesh, growing stronger and stronger till it was almost solid, binding her arms, her neck like metal chains, pressing and wiggling. And then it released surge of warmth, flood of lava to her body. Cold and heat fought for while, equal in power and intensity, tensing her muscles, applying pressure on her bones, and for moment she regretted choosing not to be beheaded, for this pain was thousand times stronger. She didn't know for how long it went on- minutes,hours,days? Cold stopped her body, made her hard and rigid like stone, then heat brought life to frozen limbs, forcing her to thrash wildly, threatening to melt her. And when she finally screamed, so strong that her vocal chords were starting to break, it stopped. It left her in second, and it took her time to realize she was no longer bombarded by pain, before she tumbled onto earth, shaking, every part of her body numb, and hungry as if she hasn't eaten in three days.

They took her, put her on Dimitri's horse, and he sat on Golden Mane. They traveled at normal speed, for Golden Mane wouldn't run as he once did, nor would he pull other horses. Instead, sometimes he seemed to purposely slow down, and no matter how much he was yelled on, he wouldn't comply ( apparently talent with handling animals wasn't hereditary). So they arrived to capital after week, and brothers spun grand tale of wicked witch, who stole away tsarevna ( that's what they called her-tsarevna, not tsaritsa) Elena-they forced her to reveal them her name, and Vasili delighted when he heard that ( most beautiful woman on earth and one with strongest kingdom was great combination of traits of bride in his opinion and took her place. How she imprisoned Elena in mountain in cold land, and ordered Firebird to steal apples. How they valiantly killed her, and took her horse. Tsar, delighted, immediatly took bird, and agreed to let Vasili marry Elena in month.

That night, she went to sleep, and when she closed her eyes-

 _Blood. Sharp blade. Intestines all around her. Ivan's lifeless body, ashen and filled with reddish stains. Stench of excrement filling her torn to pieces, hit and stabbed till it was unrecognizable. Bones barely covered by fleshy pulp arising, half rotten, to wrap it's arms around her. '' Coward'' it says. Liar and betrayer and monster-_

She wakes and cries, and doesn't go to sleep for three days straight, and then it is again same dream. She cannot look people in eyes, scratches herself all time, bites her tongue so she won't scream or cry. She buries herself in bed, and tears at her hair, hits her head on stone wall.

It is then that voice comes to her, dark and accusing. _Coward_ , it says all time. _You left him lying there, didn't even properly bury remains. You agreed to this, to save your own pitiful life. You sold yourself for what? To be praised ornament, baby maker to killer of your ''beloved''. And you dare call yourself tsaritsa, say you ruled your land fair and strong. How aren't you ashamed?_

And there was second voice, lulling voice that would sing her in night. _''You could become tsarevna of this kingdom''_ , it said, _''and you could arrange for him to be killed. And his brother and father. And you would be only one to inherit throne, and would rule fair, even if people called you wretch and witch._

 _Or you would nobly bear all abuse he will hurl at you, and try to find new love in some minor noble or servant. And when they learn of that, and lock you in tower with only bag for clothing, day before your trial you could jump from window, part with life when your face touches earth, and be happy. After all, death cannot be so bad, aren't I right?''_

And it was. On some nights she did consider it-especially last part. As they said, death didn't kill, for that was life's duty. But she feared pain, feared what will come after that ( if anything existed). She wasn't religious, not really, but she was sure that betrayers went to hell. And their priest always said that suicide was sinful, and that it led to hell ( she wasn't sure what evil she was doing, considering it, what evil was she doing when life made her give up on it, to dream of coffin and eternal sleep). Yet her instincts always kicked in, told her ''No!'' and she relented.

Week before wedding, she snuck out, to edge of forest, seeking contraceptive plants. If she was to lay with that...monster, then she wouldn't bear his child. And on third day, she learned somebody followed her.

'' If I were you, I wouldn't take that. Playing infertile won't help you long. They aren't kind to such people around here.'' She immediately jumped and turned. Speaker was short, old woman, who was smirking at her. Elena recognized her-last week she bumped into her when going to her room, and old woman fell, along with supplies. Elena helped her get up and collect her food.

'' I... Galina? What are you doing here?''

'' Don't worry, Your Royal Highness. I am not here to judge, or be snitch. I just brought something more productive.'' She took out small bottle from her pocket, filled with crushed and dried herbs.

Galina was once wetnurse of princes, she told Elena, and later their nanny. It was hard job, harder than people thought. You had to be perfect, or you were sent away. So when tsarevich Vasili sent her knocking down stairs, breaking half bones in her body, and lied that she tripped by herself, tsar immediately fired her. You didn't wish to entrust royal children to care of person who couldn't care for themselves. And word of eldest tsarevich weighted more than word of wetnurse, so she was sure truth would never come to light. It was hard winter, hard to be without job and with broken bones. her poor, sweet younger sister died from overworking, attempting to feed them both. She would have died too, if tsaritsa Natasha didn't come to her with bag full of golden coins, and tsarevich Ivan didn't convince royal doctor to help her. She got job in palace, thanks to nice recommendations of tsaritsa. Castle cook, often overlooked, but always seeing what happened in castle.

She has seen Elena's strained smile, how she hesitated as she repeated tale. How she avoided tsarevich Vasili best she could, heard her screams and cries in tower, listened to tales of delegation from Elena's kingdom, how they were sorry they never noticed impostor. Because there was none.

She understood, form Elena's fearful glances, from her quietness, from her shiver whenever somebody mentioned third tsarevich, and his brother's avoidance of that topic, what happened. ''Fools,'' she said '''as if nobody ever used oath to bind witness to silence.'' and spat onto ground. And when she saw bride sneaking off to forest, picking herbs that all young woman picked before they were about to have affair, she understood. She prepared herbs to prevent him, not her, from seeding child. Every day she put herbs into his meals, his drinks. He would notice nothing, for he would not dare seduce some milkmaid month before wedding. Too much risk of being discovered, of destroying his reputation and giving Elena excuse to break free.

And when wedding came and passed, Vasili always catching glance towards her chest, she standing still and cold as if she was sculpted out of fresh fallen snow, they went to their chambers. She undressed, slowly, behind curtain, gulping and keeping her hands into tight fists. She stood there, bare in front of moon and wind for minutes before going on bed, settling there quietly.

Vasili was already there, his clothes discarded on floor, beastly mania in his eyes. He went to her, stood above, and slowly traced his hand over her body, barely containing bale. There was something wild, something animalistic in his eyes. He was predator and she prey ( who knew what horrid fantasies he had). And yet nothing happened. His penis remained flaccid and hanging, to his surprise. He looked at her, and closed his eyes, deep into fantasy, but it didn't harden. How she wished to smirk, to gloat!

But she just fluttered her eyelashes, putting on her most innocent face, and asked what was wrong, in low, thin voice. He flailed and ripped his red hair, almost screaming.

'' It is impossible, it never happened..'' and then he shut up, realizing what he said. If he gave her idea that he slept with fair number of people, she had every right to be offended, and bring issue to his father. And his enemies in court would take story, and twist it so that he was some sort of whore...

'' Maybe I don't please you?'' Again, asked so innocently, stabbing like knife. To hear that he wasn't satisfied with her, Beautiful Elena, would be great insult to both her, as well as cause rumors of insatiability.

'' No, you are perfect my bride. Everything I need.''

'' You flatter me. Then I can only imagine you are impotent.'' And that froze hid blood. To be impotent meant to be unable to make heir, continue royal line. Greatest curse upon any tsar. And if word spread, it would even worse. He would be ridiculed, seen as less of man. There would be even talks of God's punishment, among more religious people. He shuddered- capital was civilized, cultured, but there were wild places in their lands where impotent men would be forced to dress and act as women, their status taken from them. In past, their...private parts would even be cut off.

'' But it is more probable that you are just tired. We could try this next night.'' And so they went to sleep. They tried next night, and next, and one after that. but nothing helped-Galina always put herbs into meals and drinks, drugging his system. Sometimes, Elena saw bruises and bites, and knew that he went to courtesans, who were killed after they didn't help.

And after many nights without success, Vasili grew to fear that she would reveal his ''curse''. She assured him she won't... as long as agrees to grant her few privileges, first one being involvement into matters of was to give her her own special servants ( Galina was included, of course). Third was to never again lay with her.

Fourth was to grant her Ivan's room.

* * *

'' You didn't!'' Vasilisa the Beautiful, tsaritsa of kingdom of Never and Urrainch, laughed at Elena's tale how she revealed one uppity baron's affair to his wife after he sent his spies on her.

'' I did.'' She said and drank her wine.

Of five years of her ruling, Vasilisa was her greatest friend, best part of her imprisonment here. Tsaritsa was wizard, skilled in ways of magecraft and witchart both, and ruled over one of most magical kingdoms in world. Even more magical then Elena's. She taught Elena how to control her charm, how to use it to sense wishes of others, how much pressure to put to manipulate them, how to control her emotions so that they don't empower her powers. She tried to teach Elena spells and rituals, but failed-she simply lacked one iota of ability to finish spell. She didn't even have Sight, couldn't see hidden world of magic that dwelt just beneath them.

But she could feel Vasilisa's power. It was great, almost manifesting itself to physical world. it was coiled tight around her, burning and bright, performing pressure on people around her. But what amazed Elena most was that she had sharp wit, and honest heart. She was knowledgeable and intelligent, and they could hold conversations for hours ( she too had been taken on quest for Firebird, rode on horse of power, was to be married to greedy king. but her story had happy end, one which Vasilisa engineered). She was, in short, one of five people Elena would entrust her life, and only one alive ( for Grey surely joined her parents and Ivan in eternal sleep by now). Belief that was confirmed one autumn night.

They were dining, Vasilisa and her and Vasili, two of them chatting on other side of table ( Vasilisa thought that there was only lack of love between two of them. She never guessed Elena's hate, not even with her eyes that could see states of hearts. She taught Elena, whow as already natural talent, how to control her feelings too well). It was quiet night by pale flickering of candles, when she felt it.

The power, the magic, as great as Vasilisa's, but different. Where Vasilisa's power blazed around her, harming youw ith it's weight, this power was..subtler. Finer. Thinner, but longer, penetrating very air and ground, making lights brighter, room warmer, your fear stronger. It was like power of Beautiful, but older. Much older. And when all of them turned their gazes towards door, candles were set ablaze.

Flame arose, touching floor, twisting and lashing out, before it left wick and joined others, birthing small bonfire in air, which was slowly falling on floor, twisting and shaping till it was humanoid. And when it settled, it drew in warmth, of room, leaving only bone deep cold, before it flared with gold light and exploded in shower of charcoal and sparks.

From it stepped woman, clad in old clothes, cold and blue-green like northern sea. She was shining, but seemed old, porcelain doll covered with thin patina. her eyes were grey and lifeless, as if they were just and ornament, not organ. Her face was fair, but not Beautiful, in way that made it impossible to guess her age. She thought woman could be anywhere from eighteen to forty, and felt small pull at her heart, ordering her to kneel and pray for mercy. Woman turned her head, and it was slow, followed by creaking noise, as if her head wasn't made to look at any other direction, and she was now twisting it.

'' Well, well. What fine sight. Two Vasilisa, and one who was once but is no longer. Two Beautiful girls, and I who am no longer.''

First sentence confused her-how could she have once been Vasilisa- but second terrified her.

She knew what woman was talking about, oh yes. In her teenage days, she sought way to get rid of Beauty. And it was possible, but price was too steep, for Beauty wasn't spell cast onto person. It was woven in their very being, and to rip it out, you had to destroy yourself. With loss of Beauty, you lost internal organs, memories, personality traits, desires and motivations, and ended up as wraith stuck between worlds, your very soul torn. Possibility that this woman got rid of Beauty, and lived was close to zero. And if she indeed survived removing Beauty, it meant that she was immune it ( if old legends were to be believed)

'' What do you wish, witch?'' Vasili said.

Woman-Vasilisa too-smiled, and it was like somebody etched it into rock.

'' Well, to kill you, what else?"'

Fiery spears appeared in air and flew towards Vasili. Guards run to intercept them, but they started glowing with dull orange shine, and with scream, were reduced to ash. Spear was getting closer and closer...

And then Vasilisa reached deep into herself, pulled out magic, and with flick of fingers, shaped it into orb around them. Spears hit air, and broke, before disappearing in middle of fall. With complex motion of fingers, strands of magic knitted themselves in special pattern, and created sharp projectiles. Vasilisa flung her arm, and projectiles hurled themselves at woman. When they were at half way, she felt something hot and blistering touch her spells, and they unraveled. Projectiles stopped their flight, and fell to ground, disappearing before they touched it. Grunting, Vasilisa coated herself in magic, creating shield orb around her. Then she gathered her power, and tied it around her feet, leaving two wing-like smoke wisps around each ankle, and run. Magic carried her, increasing her speed, and she was in front of woman in second, gathering her power in giant blast, firing it at her.

Woman crossed her arms in front of her face, and Vasilisa's attack disappeared in dim yellow. And then she moved her arms, and blow sent hot wind so strong that it flung Vasilisa to other side of room, consuming her shield, making fractures appear at wall. Snarling, Vasilisa gathered power around her, shaping it into pulsing ball.

'' And I thought this would be boring.''

* * *

Whole capitol shuddered with explosion of blue light and fire that came from palace. Houses collapsed and streets broke in piece and all people fell on their knees.

Above palace, two women flew and dueled, one encased in blue light, other in scorching flames. Vasilisa made spell of pain and death, and manifested it as swords. Yet her enemy fought by bare hands, whether because she prevented pain with her own power, or because it didn't matter to her. For every beam of destructive magic Vasilisa sent, woman answered with flames and magma. And when she started gathering fire around herself, fiery spiral painting clouds red, Vasilisa felt world shudder and whimper, as if it was to break. Around her, space blurred and wavered, looking more and more like child's drawing, magic they released erasing laws of nature.

She grasped her braid, and cut it with spellsword. Pain rattled her, like thousand needles stuck into nerves, as she cried out against wiind and flame.

'' World not to hurt,

I will be curt.

Find way,

magic my.

Layers bend,

portal find

so that world I

won't have to mend.

There us carry

so that we can fight merry!''

Her spell awoke, and went into world, seeking portal to Middleworld. It found one, under tree in forest next to palace. It flowed into portal, opening it, and reached out for two of them, pulling them towards tree. It's roots grew, and wriggled like snakes, forming arch over hole that widened and widened till they fell into it, and roots returned to their rightful place.

They were falling, beneath earth and beneath one layer of reality, to other, older, more magical. Middleworld, place where there was as much magic as natural material, which wouldn't be so vulnerable to their duel. As they were falling, only lights in darkness were vasilisa's blue spells and enemy's flames.

And then they neared end of tunnel, filled with light. And they fell through it, yet when they opened eyes, they were standing over black hole that disappeared when they exited.

Place where they landed was pale sea, shrouded by thick fog and filled with icebergs like mountains. Water was pale, dirty blue, still and lifeless without movement, like glass. Icebergs were smooth and shining jewels, not like rough and rugged things found in places mortals inhabited. Sky was hidden by almost black fog, obscuring where water ended and air began.

Woman jumped away, on distant iceberg, where she erected pulsing, smooth shield. she didn't attack, and Vasilisa took advantage of that. She called forth great projectiles in existence, laced them with spells made to rot flesh, and projected them from all sides. But her enemy didn't unleash fire and brimstone, didn't cut away her spells like she did earlier. Only when they got close to her, she burned them, act that took some time, and yet half spears remained, and she jumped away on other iceberg, barely missing poisonous lance.

It puzzled Vasilisa, why now she took defensive stance, and when she realized, her faced was graced with beautiful smile.

Her power smelled odd way, and behaved like it was living thing, and most of her spells focused on fire. That could mean only one thing-that this woman here, wasn't born with power of magic, nor she studied it and learnt, but that it was given to her, by creature of flame and heat old and powerful beyond mortal understanding. Great power, but with restraints normal arcanists never faced. Restraints of time and place. Here, in this land of water and ice and salt, her flame dimmed, her heat died little. Such was price, for those that turned to easy way.

Vasilisa grasped water, felt magic woven into it fight against her for moments before it relented. She rose great wave, taller than icebergs, and putting her hand in front of herself, pushed, wave following direction of her magic towards woman. And on half way, she felt soaring wall of hot power, slowing wave. Woman's face was strained, distorted with stress, as her spell fought against wave, slowing it, as Vasilisa pushed it forward. And then that hot power wrapped around wave, consuming her magic, wrapping itself around it, till it stood still.

Well, she had to admit. To use spell of such strength, with no focus but her own thoughts, in place where she was so weakened... She was good.

But Vasilisa was better. Again she waved, and two waves, thinner but longer, strode forward, and came further than first before woman stopped it. Vasilisa knelt, made circle around herself in air with her hands, and when she rose, biggest wave did too, and she sent it forward. Woman looked concerned, panic filling empty eyes...

And then wave turned, as did others, and she was encased in sphere of water. Liquid filled her lungs, salt bit her eyes, cold chilled her body, pressure working to distort it... And then it started spinning wildly, current taking Vasilisa with it. It got smaller and smaller, as woman decreased volume, till it was about to break Vasilisa's bones, water's magics fighting against her spells...

And then water exploded in million drops, which Vasilisa hurled towards woman, who teleported with small shower of flames. Vasilisa followed, teleporting to woman, just for her to teleport little further away. It went so, till Vasilisa fired beam of magic that would have killed everybody in vicinity if it was done in UpperWorld. Woman answered with beam of fire, and red and orange flames blue-white light, equal, each unmoving, infallible. As magics mixed, pink and purple sphere formed, shining light twisting, lighting crackling over it. With every minute, globe grew, stronger and greater as magic accumulated into it. Yet neither relented.

Something hit Vasilisa in head, sharp pain that made her dizzy. Her head bent, and her grip weakened. With disbalance in beams, ball exploded, magic going off towards Vasilisa. Waves of magic pushed at her, ripped at her shields, attempting to waste her away till she was bone and mush. She fell from sky onto iceberg, and laid there unmoving.

Woman flew towards her, and Vasilisa chanted.

'' To my will bow,

become slow.

Let her not move,

let her not live.''

Woman stopped for second, frozen in time, and then laughed and flew towards Vasilisa.

'' I was once Wise too.''

Vasilisa's blood curled. To get rid of Beauty, even if you survived, should mean that you would never again have gift like it. And this woman not only survived, but gained Wisdom and discarded it too. She couldn't imagine what power, what will was needed for such deed. This fight wasn't going as she planned-she couldn't guess what path woman followed, and as such, couldn't exploit her weaknesses. Vasilisa for moment cursed that she didn't have any useful Gift beside levitation ( there wasn't much you could do with ability to predict coming of storms. And some were born with compelling voice and pain causing abilities...). She reached out with her magic, towards sky, towards water. Cast spell, took over small minds, binding their thoughts, taking away their wills. Birds flew towards woman, all sharp claws and even sharper beaks. Vodanoi and rusalki, pallid and wasted away, jumped forth from beneath waters, from their dark caverns, intent on drowning her, making her one of them. But she struck out, her spells striking deep within their bones, enlargening some and rearranging their structures. Bones of birds become filled, bones of vodanoi and rusalki pierced their skins. Their flesh melted, their skins turned to stone, and they fell into waters, banished to deep trenches under sand and stone.

'' You really shouldn't send birds to pick out _my_ eyes. That is fate of stepsisters.''

As woman gloated nonsenses, Vasilisa once again made motion with fingers, and water arose, shaping into great chains. It became ice, ice became glass, glass became sand, sand became rock, rock became metal. they twisted towards her, escaping her flames, her snakes made of water. They caught her and imprisoned into steel cocoon, so that she couldn't move. She lashed out with flame and sulfur, but those chains were still, on some deep level, cold water, and she could not harm them.

'' Why? Why kill tsar?'' Woman looked at her and answered as if it was most obvious thing in world.

'' Because Baba Yaga ordered so.''

And this made Vasilisa sigh and rub her temples. Classic Slavicean thought process. If Baba Yaga, old cannibal witch from wood ordered something to be done, everybody did. Nobody seemed perturbed that she ate their children, or cared how she stayed alive. They listened to her with more fervor than to deities. It was something she worked to undermine in her husband's homeland, unsuccessfully for now. Hopefully this, when news traveled, would awake people. It needed to be done soon, before people started listening to fairy godmothers.

She reached for icebergs, pulling them around woman, uniting them with magic to make diamond tomb.

'' Fate most unagreeable,

fate most unfathomable.

Seek her,

bring forth what she fears

let it be only thing she hears.

Destroy her mind,

destroy her will.

May she never find peace.''

For moment, there was silence, devoid of any sound, as world drew in breath. As if all joy in world disappeared, leaving only tears and ash in it's wake. And then it passed, and fear fell off from her chest.

* * *

''There you are, little monster.''

Vasilisa, who was once nothing, then Beauty, then Wise, then Brave, then nothing again, opened her eyes. In front of her, stood pale, misty woman, composed of smoke and dust. Frowning, all edges and sharp angles, no mercy in her eyes.

'' You! What are you doing here!'' She screamed, attempting to free herself of chains. Woman smirked, and gently touched her on cheek. It was like cold wind on her face, then she pinched her cheeks with her sharp nails, which was as pleasant as being skewered by icicles.

'' Now, we shall have small talk with you, little lady.'' And she spoke, oh she did. Spoke, venom hidden by honey, of Vasilisa's true worth. Of her wickedness, her stupidity. Of all things she did. She forgot all that happened before, all great deeds that she has done, and was now again that eight year old girl, cowering in front of her stepmother.

'' No. She lies.'' She heard voices, thousand voices, voices of people once broken and now strong, rising from barely whisper to booming noise. And in her mind, she saw thousand people-some tall, some short. Some plump, some thin. Some dark, some pale. Beautiful, plain, ''ugly''-all of them had their place there, all of them shone with strength and virtue, and all of them bore same look she has seen so many times in mirror, on her own face, when she assured herself her stepmother knew nothing.

And in center, there was short being. Instead of skin, it had glass ( save for burn scars over half it's face). It's hair was made of gold, and under glass veins pulsed. It was dressed into shadows and light, clad into fire and ash, covered by cloak made of tides and tears. She knew what it was, instinctively, just as she knew how to breathe.

It was what she was in eyes of world, whose shoes she had to fill. Being older than this world, than memory, than story. First of first, one who was more story than person. First ash-girl, first abused, first story.

'' She lies, Vasilisa. You are worthy-even if your morality does leave something to be desired.''

'' Why...why help me?''

'' I am kind. And you need help. Person who bears most of me, like Rashin-Coatie did before you. Like Ashley-Pelt, the Hearth-Cat. Like Rhodopis, Tấm, Ye Xian. And besides, you are imprisoned by stepmother'' and she smiled, so kind and honest smile '' and I always wondered how it feels to be donor, not persecuted heroine.''

When she opened her eyes, in her hands was dagger, made of glass and darkness and life scattered through countless retellings. It cut through chains, through doubt, right into her stepmother's heart.

Stories have their laws too. Laws written into dark and stars before there were storytellers to speak of them. Implacable even for Gods. First law was: '' Nothing can be given, only bought.'' Second was:'' There must be toil before happiness, trial after treat.'' Third was: '' Stepmother has rights on many things, but not on life.''

It tore through her soul, through worlds, chaining her with weight of her own sins, dragging her to place she avoided so long ( for vasilisa never gave her proper burial, so her soul lingered in between). She was dragged away to depths of Hell, to dungeon for villains like her ( all but First Stepmother, who slid under dirt and gravel like snake, spreading cruelty and hatred whenever she went. Even Devil knew there were evils you shouldn't try to contain, or they would turn you in image of themselves).

And Vasilisa was content.

* * *

" I hope people will now understand why they shouldn't follow decrepit hags.''

Flicker of orange in iceberg was only warning she got before ice became ruby. Before seas boiled and smoke filled skies, before ice melted and pillars of flame erupted from water.

She could taste enraged magic, bitter and hot like pepper, rich and strong like fresh meat. Ice turned to water, water to steam, leaving behind only salt and dead fishes. Air was warm, too warm, and tsaritsa Vasilisa's vision flickered. Green flaming lashed tongues lashed towards her, consuming her shields, breaking her spells, their magic too great even for Middleworld to contain. She lay there, her skin burning. Rage fed magic, magic fed heat, heat fed flames, flames fed heat and they both fed power in air.

It wasn't spell. It wasn't carefully contained, controlled magic of study and words, of structures and formulas. It was wild, living thing, powered by will and soul and it's own nature. magic that said one things-you sinned, and it is time for reckoning.

Woman stood there, but she probably couldn't be called woman anymore. Her body was made of violent flames and unstable magma, covered by shining, semi-translucent thing that seemed to be made of words and images. Where veins should have been, there was only bright white light. There were few spots that emited gray shine on her, like beauty marks, and she was tied by golden threads.

And then she spoke, voice so ancient, so deep and rumbling, like vulcano awoken. But what it said was something all non-Slavicean learned to fear when talking to those people.

 _'' You said what about Baba Yaga?!''_

* * *

Flames broke through Veil separating layers of dimensions, turning people to ash, stone to charcoal. It burnt away mortar, melted glass, poisoned air. Where there was palace, now was broken ruin. Where there was forest, there was wasteland. Where there were rocks, now there was glass. And from middle of palace, great pillar of green fire arose, stretching into sky, painting it grey.

Elena stood there cowering, Vasilisa's broken and burnt body next to her. Woman took them by their hair, slipped paper into Elena's hands, and they dissolved into sparks, Elena gently, Vasilisa not so much. They reformed on other side of capitol, where people took care of them.

Vasili attempted to run, but she slowly followed him whenever he hid, and grasped his shirt, Pulling him above earth.

'' You know, if you wish for soul to pass away, it isn't enough to burn it. There must be rules, rituals, or soul will be caught between here and afterlife, unable to move on, unable to influence world. First of this rules is that body must be dead when it is being burnt.''

He screamed and kicked, prayed for mercy and cried, wiggled and defecated himself. Yet she held him still, and her fingers started to get heated.

With flash of white light, nothing was left, not one atom. Nothing save for charred skull that rested among Vasilisa's collection, weak, cowardly flame clinging to life in it.

* * *

As was tradition, Elena married Dimitri. He was wise, and didn't engage into cruelty. Not any longer. People knew him as faultless tsar, and it was true-you can't make faults if you do nothing. He was shining puppet, Elena was one truly running country. Centuries after, people would argue over life of mysterious tsaritsa, and how much power, political and arcane, she truly had.

Paper strange woman- Vasilisa, sent by dreaded Witch of Witches, contained only three ( of course three) words. '' Research Ivan's tales'' it said. And she did. She researched, and found various tales. Of third son, who was kind to animals, who married strong tsaritsas who were Beautiful and Wise and Brave, and who always involved quest. Some of these were called Vasilisa. And there were envious, wicked brothers who stole brides in some tales. And Firebirds in others. And favor of Baba Yaga. And she learnt other tales, and saw pattern. And she learnt of fate, and belief, and how world hated change.

She doesn't know what prompted Witch to send her wrath against vasili. Was it boredom? Has she heard tales of his cruelty? Or, because Elena swore under her name, she knew what happened, and remembered Ivan's politeness from his lives before. She doesn't know, but every waning quarter she sent her thanks to Hag, and God and world, in case any of them put some word in.

Anya came, and thanked and bowed. Elena made her lady in waiting, and later she became her main spy, her greatest confidant along with Galina, who was waning from this world, and Elena saw her like mother, and not shady servant she had to take care of..

And later, when she lay dying in great age of hundred and two, she made one final wish.

'' Please. When time comes for my next life, let me meet Ivan. And Vasilisa. And Grey, and Galina, and Anya. And my parents. At least two of them. Please, I beg you.''

* * *

Thank you! Please review! Next chapter is about Dimitri.


	3. Of princes and lies

Hello and welcome to third chapter! This one is about Dimitri, the second tsarevich. I really find it fun how many ways second (step)sibling can be treated in the story. I Hope that you will enjoy this!

* * *

They kill their third brother, tear him apart and throw what remains into woods. There is no honor in that act, no grand duel he accepts knowing risk. They assault him while he sleeps ( who knows if he even noticed). Heavy steel cuts through skin and muscle, breaks nerves and bones and leaves bloody pulp more reminiscent of semi-cooked porridge than human body.

They steal his treasures, his ticket to throne. They hunt woman who sleeps with him ( '' How did that oaf get hold of such beauty?'' Vasili says), and when they catch her and make her kneel. She spits and curses, but when they press steel at her neck, she cowers and vows to keep her lips shut. In end she becomes tsaritsa. Just to other tsar than one she wished.

And now his first brother is dead as last, and he hadn't had such merciful fate. Killed by fiery witch , his capital shaken by her power, his home torn apart by her spells. There is nothing left to scatter to wind, and no rite can be speak empty prayers over empty urn. She immolated him, they say. She burned him alive and chained half of his soul to this world and sent other half to afterlife. They shouldn't fear that he will turn in one of unclean, thought. There is no body left for him to inhabit.

He remains in the church after funeral. There are no people, and for that the chamber looks so much bigger and holier. He kneels in front of the altar, bowing to crucifix and icon of Theotokos and speaks. Voice that comes out isn't like his- it is broken and high pitched and snivelling, voice of child who fears punishment.

'' Please... please spare me, spare me.'' He doesn't know to whom he prays, to God or his brother or that witch, but they don't answer ( thought light breaks through window and everything is so much quieter).

'' It was Vasili... Vasili killed him, Vasili threatened her, it is all his fault. I tried to talk him out of it, tried to do it another way but he wouldn't listen.I did nothing! Nothing! Nothing!'' And that was truth. He did nothing at all. Nothing to stop Vasili, nothing to protect Ivan. He was consumed with greed as much as Vasily. he didn't raise his sword, but he too wanted to take away Ivan's treasures. He did suggest they talk to Ivan, force him to hand them over, but he didn't move when Vasily took his saber out of scabbard. He didn't help Elena escape, or tried to stop Vasili from forcing her to make a vow. And in doing nothing, he stained his hands.

'' He is dead! Life for life, isn't that enough? There is no need to kill me too. You can leave me alive.'' It seems as if icon and crucifix hardened their eyes, filled them with venom. His voice breaks further, panicked sobs rising and falling in volume as his eyes redden and his nose swells.

'' Please. I will repent. I will change, and atone, and be good tsar. If I die, so will tsardom. Nobles will try to establish themselves as new royals, and they will fight till tsardom is torn to pieces.'' At this, hatred disappears from their gazes, and he sees concern, surprise. His tears and snivel stop stop and his heart slows down. Panic and fear that shook his head retreat and his skulls stops with ache.

'' Thank you. Thank you. I will keep my promise.''

He goes away, not sure if he imagines everything or if he truly witnessed miracle. He wanders halls and abandoned roads, and returns to camp. In morning, they will go to summer palace, while his home is being rebuilt. And hopefully they can get somebody from Arcanist Enclave to do something about fire pillar.

When he came, Elena's cool expression slipped at sight of his red and swollen face, and something that might have been concern shone in her eyes. She hesitated for moment, and then that chill of hers returned, her eyes piercing him.

'' I understand that we are to be married. ''

'' Such is custom of our people. In case of tsar's death, his heir can marry widow if she gives her consent.''

Elena snorted. her consent was given when when Vasili forced her to marry him. Despite his death, oath she made still stood, and it would force her to marry Dimitri. Vasili and his father were quite clear on what she was to do in case of Vasili's untimely death.

'' I won't lie with you.''

He hesitated. That would be problem, if she would bear him no heir. Not only would their line be in danger of ending ( they had few cousins left), but there would be rumors, whispers at court. Treachery and plots made to besmirch his name. That already happened with Vasili, for whole court knew she and him slept in separate chambers. If it repeated... He wondered how far would oath go, could it force her to...

To stand like doll while he raped her? He, who took away her home, her life, her freedom? He and his brother murdered Ivan to take her, forced her become bride and keep their secrets. made her participant in murder. They forced her to relinquish her throne, her country to ministers. Brought her to unfamiliar land full of people who she didn't understand. If it was him in her place, he would do same.

'' Agreed.''

In the end, they have to build new palace, and move big part of capitol. Arcanist Enclave tried their best .Truly, for once. This time they didn't just send amateur who looked at spells, said they are too complicated and took three bags of gold. No, not this time. They sent their best, experts with decades of work under their belt. They came, pale and stricken, gaping and gulping as they approached.

They tried everything. They tried to extinguish it with water and magic and cold, but flames burned as bright as before. They tried to move it, but it did not falter under their barrage. They tried to siphon it off, but it's magic was too strong, too hard for them to consume. Pillar remained, stretching in sky and consuming water, scorching earth. For three days and three nights they examined flames, before they gave up and took only half of price.

He could understand their frustration. He knew nothing of magic, but quite bit of politics. Powerful, rogue witch appearing out of nowhere, killing tsar, damaging half of capitol and defeating prestigious member of Enclave such as tsaritsa Vasilisa ... He shuddered at thought of all explanations and bargains they would have to provide to all royals on continent.

Around him, people scavenged and crawled through broken remains of city, picking whatever trash they thought useful. He saw scrawny old man, with skin hanging from bones like drying laundry, pick up torn curtain and cover himself. Young woman with torn clothes and purple bags under eyes picked up bread from mud and gave it to child holding her hand. Tall, strong man with multiple scars rummaged through rubbish, picking up poles and cloth to make tent.

He looked at them, poor and weak people who loyally served his family for generations, who now suffered because of their and minor aristocracy would have problems, but in the end, they would either move or pay for renovation of their homes, but what would happen with peasants that lived at edges of city, with small bakers and seamstresses and innkeepers, people who didn't have gold to pay the best architects in the land, who didn't have summer palaces in which they could hide, servants to get them food, soldiers to give illusion of comfort?

Once, Ivan said something. Well, half asked and half mumbled, and it was difficult to understand thanks to his confusing, abstract speech, but point was: '' How can tsar know what happens with people if he is always in palace? Why do they serve if tsar does nothing for them?''

Remark earned him slap and screaming by father, fist and laughter by Vasili, sigh and lecture by tutor and lecture by Dimitri. Ivan nodded and listened through talk of diplomacy and trade and price arrangement ( he even managed to to rock or yawn), but when everything was finished and he was let to go after swearing that he learnt lesson, Dimitri was sure he heard Ivan mutter '' Well, they don't _see_ you doing things.''

'' Master, we are ready to go.'' Voice snapped through his daydreaming like sharp sword through cotton cloak, and he turned his head to servant bit too fast as his memories faded like morning mist on sunlight. It took him moment to register meaning of words.

'' Master... are you feeling well?''

'' Yes. Now call the driver.''

'' Why?''

'' Because'' he smiled '' we are staying with our subjects.''

* * *

It was hard, but it worked, which was all that mattered.

He and his stayed in best preserved parts of city, but still they had to struggle. They had to repair buildings to keep away rain and thunder and cold, to find space for all people. They had to cook their own food on makeshift stoves, food they had trouble getting. It was horrible to sleep in dark and damp, on straw filled with stones, yet whenever he thought to complain, image of woman feeding child muddied bread flashed in his mind, and he closed his mouth.

Some servants, and lords and ladies that decided to stay with him, murmured that he has gone mad. Soldiers laughed and congratulated him. Elena spoke not, but cooked and slept without any complaint, her face always neutral, as if she grew up in woods.

They had to borrow money from their neighbors and allies, whose couriers smiled smiles as pleasant as snake scales, slithering and cold, and talked at length to their masters how proud tsars of Rustaya fell. They schemed and plotted to perform annexation on Rustaya, just like Rustaya did with Ruttryniya years ago.

But people...People adored him. They sang praises to tsar Dimitri, who decided to stay and suffer with his people. Who shared his food with them, paid for their homes with his money. Who trusted them enough to send his soldiers away, who wasn't scared of witch. Who didn't let his mourning get in way of his duty. It didn't matter that he slept in best preserved house, that money he gave them was money of their neighbors, that food that was sent to people wasn't of same quality as one he ate. That he knew that bigger danger was at borders, that if any of civilians decided to strike at tsar they would be sentenced to death, that it was almost sure witch wouldn't return. That there hasn't exactly been much to mourn.

Year passed, and capitol was restored. They made new palace, new streets, new 's walls were as strong as before, it's towers just as tall. It was beautiful and shining and giant. Never again would it be attacked, people spoke ( and turned their eyes away from flames in distance, and prayed in their heads).

Following years were hard, as they tried to repay debts. Taxes went little higher, less crops were consumed by people whose land birthed them than those from other lands. They gave up silks and jewels, sold all arts they produced, sold national treasures. People had to treasure what they had, but with each day debt was smaller, and taxes lower.

Thanks to compassion he showed that first year after attack, people didn't hate him. Their losses made them bitter, but there was no hatred. They were sure that he didn't waste money on his own comfort, but also that he could have found better way to solve problems they faced. They spoke both good and bad of him, which was same as if they didn't speak at all.

Which was more than he expected, for to be truthful, he didn't rule. He was second son, meant to be replacement in case Vasili died, which his father found unlikely. He got nothing more than basic lessons in diplomacy and governance ( highly irrational and careless, advisers whispered). He was supposed to be financial adviser and head of treasury, taught how to calculate, not speak. He didn't know how to strike deals or soothe insulted ambassadors, how to read between lines or make subtle threats. And silence, which came so naturally to him, was taken by others as either sign of disrespect, stupidity or meekness. Which was why ruling was left to Elena.

Elena, who reigned as tsaritsa of Thrice-Tenth kingdom for five years, and then as tsaritsa of Rustaya for five more years. Taught her entire life, with natural talent, she was able to fulfill all duties he was failing at. She was good tsaritsa-but not kind one. She skillfully navigated turbulent waters of court life, spun her web of schemes and lies, and delivered her enemies to damp dungeons and cold blades. Manipulated people and spied on them all, all for benefit of state in future. needs of many over lives of few, she said.

It benefited state and improved lives, but people feared and distrusted her. Dimitri saw clearly that he will go in history as unremarkable king, devoted three sentences in history books. One naming him, his parents,brothers and wife. Second containing dates of his birth, death and coronation. Third mentioning that he struggled with debts after assassination of his brother and damage delivered to capitol. And nothing more.

After all, only really good or really bad kings got lessons dedicated to them, because that is all people care about. The rest served to fill in the blanks.

* * *

 _What is second sibling?_

 _That is but one of many questions asked by those whose fates were shaped by stories. For tales have strict rules ( though they appear to be so flexible), and some things are always same. First sibling is wicked and cruel and lazy and cowardly and isn't bothered by blood dripping from their hands. Third sibling is good and brave and honest and abused and cursed. But second sibling, second sibling is one of mysteries, one of rare roles that offer some freedom, for they are bound by different rules ( extremes are all that matter to tales, whether it character or age, and anything in between is secondary)._

 _Second sibling, some say, is just as wicked as first, but it's reach is smaller._

 _Second sibling, others disagree, is ally to third, bound by fear and false love._

 _Second sibling, third speak, only there because tales like threes, or because storytellers forgot what comes after first, so they added another till they remembered, or because it makes third seem more extraordinary._

 _Second sibling, fourth theorize, is nobody and nothing, blank space that is as neutral as first is rotten and third noble._

 _And those who lived long enough to see their lives, their sufferings, their triumphs turned from fact to rumor to myth to children's tale would tell that it depends on which tale took you to replace them._

 _If you were to ask the First of Third, she who first sat among ashes, she would tell you that just as they fight over love, or treasure, or dragon, first and third fight over second. It is third's burden to ensure that second isn't corrupted ( she would also tell you that if first wasn't corrupted either, it all would be much easier, but most choose not to bother with that), for evil and good fight over every single person equally vicious as they fight over entire realms._

* * *

He was dying.

It wasn't tragic. He lived for fifty one year, which was more than most could boast. He managed to get his state back in solid state, didn't incur hate of his subjects and once hasn't fought in war. All in all, acceptable life and reputation not too different from his father's.

Oh, and his crime remained hidden. Nobody ever found Ivan ( not that many bothered). It was all too easy to say that strange and foolish boy got killed by some bandits or stray beast. It wasn't much of waste- they could do without one colonel ( not that Ivan would have ever ascended to that position if he wasn't tsar's son) or one more branch of royal family.

He wondered what he will find on other side. Will Saint Peter let him enter heaven, where Virgin will congratulate him on keeping his promise, and where he will finally make amends with Ivan? He would fall to his knees and hug him and cry and apologize so much.

Dimitri cracked weak smile. ,, Such arrogance.'' he thought. Much more likely that he will immediately be kicked to Hell, where Vasili will wait for him and ask what took him so much time.

Torches and candles burst with life without any warning, flickering wisps turned into roaring flames. Room got warmer, brighter, as shadows grew longer and covered him. He could hear quiet crackling of flame that consumed strong timber, but not deduce where it came from.

Metal on doors shone with faint yellow light, and started melting, sliding across wood like oil on water. Wood itself turned black and grey on some spots, from where charred splinters and dusty ash fell. Tiny sparks came from beneath the doors, flying around madly. His tired eyes mistook them for fireflies, before they collected themselves in shape of women.

Sparks joined each other, absorbing more and more of flying light, till woman of pure flame stood in front of him. He started to sweat, and then glow dimmed, shadows retreated and room grew colder.

Light and flame were dimming, growing paler and paler by seconds, retreating bit by bit till she was creature of flesh and bone. She was beautiful, but now she looked as cold as she was warm minute ago. Her skin was pale, shining and hard like porcelain. Her eyes were grey and empty like those of fishes that dwell at bottom of mountain rivers, and her blonde hair seemed to be made out of platinum strings. She wore expensive, teal dress that re recognized as traditional Ruttryniyan garb.

'' You are bit late, I am afraid.'' She slightly cocked her head to left and said '' How so?''

'' Well, I'm on my deathbed. I will most likely live one day more.''

Slow, red light arose from floor next to his bed, shaping itself into chair. Woman walked over to him, smoke coming from her feet, and sat on it.

'' If you are so near death, I would say I came at right time.''

His eyes widened and he craned forward, not blinking. Before he spoke, coughing fit overcame him. Whole time she was sitting there, waiting for him to finish.

'' Why? There is no honor in killing man when illness is just waiting to take him.''

'' And there is honor in killing brother while he sleeps?''

It wasn't really surprising. Some of Arcanist Enclave theorized that woman was citizen of former Ruttriniya, who killed tsar to avenge annexation of her people. They didn't have much to base that-only her dress. He himself had another theory, which seemed to be confirmed now.

Everybody knew old tales, legends of witches and fairies and other magical creatures who disguised themselves as old and poor, then tested character of random people. He didn't understand why they would do that, and as everybody, thought those tales to be just that-tales for bored and hyperactive children. But after Vasily's death, he started digging over history for known cases of magical attacks on royalty.

What he found made him vomit. He found tales of arcanists who destroyed cities because their friends were betrayed, witches who stalked and cursed people because they cheated on their neighbors. Fairies who killed newborns because they weren't invited to christening, who cursed people to spew toads and snakes because they didn't speak politely to them.

And tales of magic users who avenged death of people kind to them. There was particularly gruesome tale of witch who tested young man, disguised as beggar. Man was killed by love rival, who stole his home and wife. Witch learnt of this by spirits, and she turned killer's entire family into rabbits, save for his children, who became crazed wolfs whom she persuaded to eat their own family. And many more. When he finished with reading, only one thing passed through his mind.

Ivan was always kind to beggars.

'' I never understood why there was so much attention given to fratricide. My first victims were my sisters and mother.''

'' You killed your family?'' Anger bubbled in him. This changed much. He could accept her berating him because of what he has done, but to do that when she is guilty of same thing, when he repented..

 _Ah, but did you repent?_ Voice in his head chuckled. _And how you know that she didn't repent?_

'' Though, they were stepfamily, not my own blood, and people seem to employ double standards in that situation. And they tried to kill me first-after years and years of abuse.''

'' It was self defense? Or revenge?'' Well, that made it hard to blame her. Her stepsisters sounded like Vasili- maybe they got together in Hell.

'' Neither, actually. An accident.''

'' How do you accidentally kill three people?''

'' By dropping lantern when you are hit and setting house on fire.''

'' Oh. I would say that I'm sorry, but it sounds like lucky accident.''

'' It was. '' Whole time her expression didn't change, and he was treated by empty gaze and amused almost smile. '' It must be strange, talking with me this way. I killed your brother.''

'' But are you here to kill me?''

She chuckled and whispered something. '' Aren't you smart. Always have been.'' twirling her hair, she leaned down. '' No, that is not why I am here. Death was for Vasili. Fear and guilt were for you, and in my experience they work much was fun seeing you, all scared those first few years, so sure I will burst from ground and turn you to ash.''

'' That... that was cruel. cruel and disgusting and completely sick.''

'' It was funny. You looked like jester.''

'' Young lady, that is no way to address your elders.'' Woman blinked and then started laughing like mad. '' Elder? Dear tsar, tell me- if twenty years ago I looked as young woman, and I look young now, what are chances that I bore this face for longer than you have been alive.''

That stopped him, and he dazed off, thinking for some time on old legends. '' Big, I would say.'' Well, if she was really that old, going around dressed as beggar to test people made sense. If somebody lived long enough to witness many cruelties of world, and had power to change that, they probably would. Bitterness and misguided idealism drove people to do stranger things.

Or she was just bored and wished to add some adventure in her life.

She hovered around him, moving fingers. It made her seem like cat who wished to get hold of spilled milk but couldn't reach it.

'' Are you casting spell?''

'' Oh no. I'm just inspecting materials.''

'' Materials?''

'' Your life. One you are leaving. Your final breaths. I could make clothes out of it. Mourning garb perhaps. But I wouldn't take them without permission.''

'' ...Clothes can be made out of that?'' One part of him wished to laugh and say that it's impossible. yet other claimed that it wasn't so preposterous as it seemed-she was witch, and has lived for who knows how long. She had magic, making impossible happen was her job.

'' Yes. If you have right fibers, and this ones look really promising.''

'' Well, thank you. You can take them.'' It could maybe even make her more affable. He still didn't know if she planned something, and didn't dare to ask.

She waved with her fingers, and bundles of what seemed to be solid air and threads made of mirrors arose from around him, flying to her palm. They shone for moment and disappeared.

'' Truth, I came here to ask you three questions. Answer them with yes or no, and we will see what will be of your fate. And be honest- I don't like liars.''

'' I understand.'' He gulped.

'' Do you regret what happened to Ivan? '' He thought it was going to be something hard. He almost started with of course, and how could I not, but then he took just one look at her eyes and instead simply said.

'' Yes.''

'' Do you think you are to blame.''

Little slower, quieter, but just as sure, accompanied by teary eyes.

'' Yes.''

'' And do you think you deserve forgiveness?'' He didn't answer. His mouth was left hanging and his eyes glazed over, while his mind went away. he wished to say yes, but then guilt bit his heart, eating away his confidence like worm in apple. He wished to get forgiveness, sure, but did he deserve it? He couldn't answer-such decision surely was reserved for God and Ivan. for judge and victim, not for criminal like him.

He wandered through memories, through years, till he came to library of old palace, fifteen year old. In front of him stood Ivan, crying and bleeding.

'' It's nottt right, nott right. Why-y do they do that? They have no right..''

Fifteen year old him sighed with exhaustion and kneed next to Ivan, putting hand on his head. Ivan pulled up his head from his arms and knees, and looked at him, one eye open, other closed and surrounded by purple welt.

'' Listen Ivan,''he said, in bored and tired voice that made adult him hit himself '' this has to stop. You are adult now, and can't cry like girl. Sure, father sometimes isn't very patient, but you can't blame him. He has lot of work to do, and you don't help him with your escapades and rebellions. Not every father would be so understanding. Everything he does, he does for you. If you were less loud and more communicative, if you stopped sneaking out and played with other children instead with animals and your crafts, if you behaved like prince and got better results with your tutors, he wouldn't be so angry with you. You must change.'' It was monotone, still voice, one repeating all things his father angrily mumbled to himself, excluding insults and crude words no civilized man would utter, but it did trick with Ivan. He stopped crying and instead gazed at Dimitri.

'' Really? He won't... beat and shout?''

'' Yes. But it's all up to you. You must try. Promise.''

'' I pro-omise.'' He tried to hug Dimitri, who pulled him away before he got up and dusted off his knees.

'' But what about Vasili?''

'' Well, you have to learn or fight. Or hide.'' And he went away, leaving Ivan to wipe blood from his cuts. He kept his word- he did things that scared and disgusted him but pleased their father, hid from Vasili and never once complained.

'' Will you answer?''

Her voice snapped him out of memories, and he looked at her, tears running over wearied face. His voice was loud, clear and unshakeable.

'' No.'' And with that word, he slowly released air from himself, till his lungs were empty and and his chest stopped rising. His numb head fell to pillow and his mouth, left hanging open, started to slobber, creating small, foamy sea of saliva and tears on sheets next to him. His eyes were left wide and empty, like those of doll. His skin was already starting to go pale, as his body cooled. Vasilisa turned, let chair disappear, made one step towards door, and then stopped. With snap of fingers, she called forth white clothing, slightly unfinished, with belt nest to it, and left it neatly folded on bed.

When guards awoke from their enchanted sleep, they went to check on tsar and found him dead. Main adviser asked how did clothes for deceased get there, and threatened to throw them in dungeon. But tsaritsa intervened on their behalf, saying that if somebody was so kind to leave funeral robes, they mustn't show ingratitude. And she smiled, cold smile that didn't reach her eyes, and adviser bowed and mumbled apology and went to bother somebody else.

They washed body, dressed it, laid him to rest with his head pointed to icon. For three days and three nights they left him alone, and on beginning on fourth day, they smelled flames and saw smoke dancing in front of chambers where body was laid to rest. They rushed, screaming and pulling hairs, ready to put out fires...Only to find room cold and unharmed, filled only with smoke and dying flickers of green flame.

On place where tsar's body laid, there was now decorated urn with ashes.

* * *

Thank you for reading and please review.  
So, about burial- I placed it onto Orthodox Russian burial rites. Clothing, belt, washing, icon corner, three days of waiting, they are all part of traditional Orthodox funeral. I, however, added cremation. It is supposed to prevent person from raising as undead, a valid fear in this world.  
Next chapter is about next reincarnation, in modern day, serving as prelude for another story.


	4. Of cries and smiles

So, here is the final chapter! After that new part will begin. This chapter can be called a preview of sorts. Thank you all who read this. I hope you like it, and that you will review.

* * *

Truth is, there is magic everywhere. In winds and rocks, in flames and waves. Scattered through world, it can be found in the most savage of wilds as much as in the most developed cities ( and really, there isn't difference), in the highest clouds as much as in deepest pits of dark earth, in the most heated of deserts as well as in the coldest tundras. It is in our every step, our every breath, our every word. When we see and when we listen, when we feel and react, all those are small acts of magic.

But those are small magics, tiny and weak and undeveloped. They don't amount to much, hold no power over reality as magic of men and monsters, magic of mages and witches, sorcerers and wizards, vampires and ghosts, giants and dragons. It cannot call forth weapons from void, it cannot turn flame into ice, unmake mountains. It cannot stop armies, nor summon dead to fight, or bind people to serve. They are but grains of sand.

This has led some rather foolish people ( who of course thought they knew everything) say that it makes no sense that stories are so powerful. After all, they are just words, misrepresented accounts of unrecorded history at best, silly tales meant to send children to sleep at worst. So why do they, of all things, have such control over people's fates, why do they shape universe as easily as clay when it suits their purposes?

These stories aren't bound by time and space. For centuries, across countless universes, they have been retold by numerous storytellers, to numerous listeners. Every time they were spoken, they gained bit of power. Power from words, from storyteller's work, from audience's reactions, from their feelings. And each storyteller added something, so they took power from even tiniest detail that wasn't there before, took power from storyteller's inspiration and act of creation. When people developed enough to create books and pictures and films, they took power from there. Whenever somebody was amazed by story, when it resonated with them, or when they were bored or thought them silly, their power grew. Whenever somebody had musings about story, or made joke, or inserted reference to some tale in their work, their grip was tighter. They took power from ideals and morals those stories championed, from plot points in other, less famous works that were unconnected but seemed similar to them, which was all that mattered.

Alone, grain of sand is powerless. But collect enough of them, build beach or desert, and they become the mighty foe indeed.

But even without narrators, without listeners, they can survive, thanks to two things. First is that the world itself loves these stories, and so it seeks to preserve them, guiding and helping, like winds that create dunes in desert, or waves that mold lagoons and bays. It does so, till enough time passes ( for older the thing, stronger the magic), and what was once sand is now the mountain.

Second are people, for what is story with no characters? As they were spawned by actions and feelings of people we today call legends, they prefer such source above any else. They draw power from tales that happen, and from that power they bring forth new tales. They seek to reverse time, trap those from whose lives they have been woven in past, live same fate again and again. Sometimes, they succeed, sometimes not. But it doesn't matter much.

If the originals won't play, they will just find the replacement.

* * *

'' At least the night is clear.''

Bohdan glanced sideways at Anastasia, and rolled his eyes. Thankfully, she wasn't looking in his direction, so he was spared another tedious lecture about bad manners, omens and other such superstitions.

Still, if believing in all that makes her happier, he supposed he couldn't complain. Even if he found reliance on such old tales irrational and counterproductive. How could sky think, or care for fate of mother and child? To think that reason winds stopped, or rain didn't fall, was because sky wanted to warn humans that all was going well with birth... Preposterous, utterly preposterous. Just air and stars.

He looked through hospital window. Sure, sky was was clear-not single black cloud, letting stars and moon shine with all their might. His head slumped, and eyelids almost close. His whole body became limp, his posture fell as hours of waiting weighted on him, causing dull pain in his bones and spine, sending small, electric impulses through soft, numb flesh of his arms. He didn't think, didn't feel, but just looked through window, at shining white lights in dark, black sky, how they reflected on glass and metal buildings that were becoming more and more popular with each year, on calm sea with no waves, making it hard to decide where water ended and sky began. Any other day he wouldn't have even glanced at sky, not bothering himself with something so ordinary, but now tired and unable to look at anything, he could almost understand how Anastasia found solace in it...

Older nurse, with steely hair and stark white uniform came to them. She glanced at Anastasia's markings and robes, and coldly said to Bohdan ''Congratulations. It is girl.'' before departing.

Those words hit them both like lighting. They poured through their body, banishing pain and ripping away tiredness,and they jumped and almost run to operational hall. There she was, tired and sleepy and excited, with baby in arms. It was of course, doctor had to ruin it by asking '' So, how are you going to name her?''

After three hours, he finally bough ear plugs.

* * *

'' To my new son, and our future lawyer!''

Dragomir put on strained smile and drunk shot. He may not have liked Vladimir, and Vladimir may have thought him silly, but they were business partners, and contracts they had were much important than pesky feelings. And it wouldn't do to be rude to man after he invited you on party dedicated to his son.

As people around him drunk and shouted, his mind, for some reason, turned to Vladimir's three sons.

Oldest was Vasili. Nine year old, strong boy who was supposed to inherit company and become CEO after Vladimir's retirement ( more likely, death, as Vladimir was sort of person who would work till he dropped dead on his desk). Thought mature, boy was bit spoiled and rude, but Dragomir supposed it couldn't be helped. He was still child, and would grow out of it.

Second was Dimitri. Six year old, quiet and obedient, which were qualities much prized and desired in children of his age. Already he was showing himself to be quiet smart, and Vladimir planned for him to deal with company's profit and marketing.

Third son wasn't needed, but still welcome addition to family. Born this night, half hour ago, Vladimir already decided to make chief lawyer out of him.

'' How are you going to name him?'' somebody asked.

Vladimir stopped to think for moment, then shrugged and said '' Aleksandr, probably. We will see. Now, shall we continue with party?''

* * *

'' How are you going to name him, miss?''

Natasha's focus snapped. It was Vladimir who named both Vasili and Dimitri, and that was how it was supposed to go this time too. But as Vladimir didn't come to hospital, or called her on phone, or sent somebody to check, she had no idea what she was supposed to name him.

She knew she was supposed to wait for him, when he finished with work-he told her he had very important meeting and that he didn't know when it would end, and said he was sorry he wouldn't be there for as with Dimitri. He had meeting to attend, and it lasted hours, so he visited them next day. But that time he gave her name she was to give child.

But, what if she named him now? It wasn't big thing, and he was her child after all. After all she went to give birth, she at least had right to give him name, as long as it wasn't something silly that would make others bully him. _''Yes, do it.'_ ', whispered something in her. _''Name him, name him, name him.''_ it continued, and she opened her mouth and with a dreamy, distant voice said this.

'' Ivan. His name is Ivan.''

* * *

One of problems with people today, Baba Yaga would say, is that they don't understand how much work it takes to set the tale. And of course, that they don't get tale won't stop till it gets setting it desires.

Your protagonist for this tale has to be royal and rich . Because those two things aren't always related, tale has to make land wealthy. Sometimes it will conjure gold and jewels under ground. But it is noticeable, major change, so that is reserved for most extreme of circumstances. Often it will make sure that country has much prized resource, which it means it must take that resource away from other lands. It may poison water, make fields infertile, animal meat diseased. Lives of many will be lost, but it's goal will be reached.

And suppose that protagonist is bastard. It needs to make them into legitimate heir. It may make their royal parent's partner infertile, or kill all their children, or send somebody to curse family till all bastards are recognized as legitimate heirs.

They may be cousin of the monarch. Then the tale will whisper to their parents, convince them to poison their own blood, or lead uprising. They may not be royals. then the tale has no choice but to cause revolution, spilling blood of hundreds to put one man on throne, so that their descendants will be royal children.

Land is no longer kingdom? It has presidents? Then it will manipulate one parent to become president. But what if fate decreed that parent's fate is to be businessman, not politician? Well then answer is obvious. Sow the corruption among populace, make government listen to orders of rich and stamp on poor. Close enough.

You need villain to be evil sorcerer? Well, that is much easier. You just need to locate evil person and give them power. Maybe they find book filled with evil spells, book written centuries ago by sorcerer who slaughtered thousands. Maybe they come upon powerful and wicked teacher, whom tale endowed with might and luck so that they could build reputation ( and body count) but escape law. Maybe they are born with power, and start abusing it. first little pranks, then bullying and then death and horror and tears and blood.

Oh yes, tale won't stop. If there is one thing tales are good at, it is accepting change and adapting it to their purposes. No matter who gets in way. They have job, and they must fulfill it. Or else...

* * *

'' Watch where you are going!''

Ivan looked up from cobblestones and saw girl sitting on pavement in front of him, all her things laying around her. Bags, clothes, books, keys laid around like pieces of puzzle thrown by irate child. He bit his lip and got up, lending her hand. She accepted with grunt, but he pulled her too strong, as if he was trying to rip her arm, and she flew to him, hit his forehead with hers, and they both stumbled and fell. She was lying right at him, his nose pricking her cheeks, which in turn were lying at his mouth, making it bit hard to breathe.

She got up, running her forehead, and said '' Are you okay?''

His eyes widened, and his whole face turned red as he blabbered and waved with his arms till she frowned and said '' Slow down and talk normally!''

He stopped his rapid breathing and said '' I mean I'm sorry. For hitting you and scattering your things and hitting you again. It was all accident and you don't need to ask me if I'm okay!''

She blinked. '' But you hit your head on pavement...''

'' Ah, that. That's nothing. I have hard head, father says it's so thick that it could be used as that thing cannons shoot!'' Well, Vasili still hasn't tried that ( which surprised Ivan)

Blinking again. Slow and long okay.

'' Here, I''ll get this. '' He started collecting her scattered things and giving them to her, all while being on knees, incredibly fast. When he was finished, she gave him hand. He accepted, and she pulled him strongly, so that he was on legs in second. And then she left.

When he turned around, his head bent and looking at ground, he saw something at ground where he was sitting moments ago. There was small, golden ring with green stone, and photograph that showed her with man and two women, one hugging man and her, other dressed in bright orange robes of Alazarsi priestess. He got them, and started looking around, shouting whole time.

'' Hey, you! You forgot something!'' people glanced at him, wondering to whom he is speaking, before turning back to their own business and stopping to think of '' rude, mad boy.''

He run. Through shopping malls and city squares, through old and modern parts of city. Through streets filled with restaurants, and streets filled with bookshops. Through crowds and void alleys. But he didn't find her, and so he slowed, walking even more hunched than usual. And it was on train station that he bumped into somebody.

'' You again.''

Moment he heard voice, he jumped up and gave her ring and photo, apologizing profusely. After moment of confusion, she thanked him.

'' Oh. You dropped- well I hit you and you dropped them..'' he said before collecting her things. He collected all that was around them, then went to rails to take phone that flew there. He didn't pay attention to shouts, when he heard noise of wheels. There it was, train driving towards him with great speed, sparks flying from the rails. Ivan turned and looked at train speeding towards him, calm and confused. Then he jumped at pavement. Girl stood there with wide eyes and trembling lip, and after taking phone calling him idiot, introduced herself as Anya. He introduced himself, blushing whole time, and then she had to go.

When he was walking in park, he bumped into somebody again. Tall boy with grey hair, who immediately got up and departed. Behind he left brown leather bracelet.

'' Not again..'' Ivan groaned.

* * *

'' So, how was it?''

Grey looked at Vasilisa, leaning onto table like cat before nap, while her doll was bringing tea. Slight smile graced her lips.

'' It was well.''

'' You know, it really wasn't fair. He got to talk with her, and you just bumped into him and walked away. You could have chatted little. ''

'' I wasn't allowed to do that.''

'' You weren't allowed to meet him either, yet you did. If you are going to break the rules, then you should them hard.''

'' Vasilisa!'' Three shrill, growling voices blew through room, and then tall, ancient, bent woman appeared, her stone grey saggy skin and snow white hair almost touching floor.

'' What has gotten into you? Such disrespect! That mutt is bad influence on you!'' Doll nodded her head.

'' And you, pooch! Where are you going!'' Woman bared her teeth, sharp knives of iron and stone, waving her stick towards Grey who was attempting to slide out of room. Vasilisa chuckled and waited for babushka to finish screaming so she could return to lecturing her.

'' Well, maybe it is good that they haven't talked. So much blushing in single day would have turned his face permanently pink.'' Doll swatted her hand, and Vasilisa turned to look outside the window, to look at black clouds that appeared along with babushka, wind that grew stronger as she waved her stick and hail that fell and fell with her shouting.

'' I have really good feeling about this tale.'' She stood still, not moving. Her shadow, however, nodded.

When she was finished with screaming at the Grey, and lecturing him for who knows which time about rules and listening to her decisions, old woman, taped at door with her stick, and told him to move and start turning on cameras and alarms. And he did, complaining about useless torments and meaningless jobs and taking things too far with this charade. Well, he was thinking about that, but with the old hag it was same.

The old woman didn't turn, didn't walk towards Vasilisa. But she was there, in front of Vasilisa. Grey thought this was instant teleportation whenever she did that with him, but Vasilisa knew babushka simply reorganized reality so that space that contained what she wanted to see was in front of her. She sat on chair, and with voice of concerned grandmother, talked with Vasilisa about her behavior while Vasilisa kept her smile hidden and apologized. Babushka, she thought, could become great actress. No wonder- she had lot of time to practice.

And far away, young boy returned home to father criticizing him or tardiness, hoping nobody who knew him saw him that day.

He placed bracelet among his things. He would try tomorrow.


End file.
